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/ . '.'li. ■ , .V, , : ■ 

SOLDIERS THREE 


A COLLECTION OF STORIES 

SETTING FORTH CERTAIN PASSAGES IN THE LIVES AND 
ADVENTURES OF PRIVATES TERENCE MULVANEY, 
STANLEY ORTHERIS, AND JOHN LEAROYD 


By RUDYARD KIPLING 


W e be Soldiers Three— 
Pardonnez imije vous e% frit^ 


A. L. BURT COMPANY, PUBLISHERS, 
SS.-iS DUANE STREET, NEW YORK '« 


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CONTENTS 


rAos 


The God from the Machine.... 1 

Private Learoyd’s Story.... 19 

The Big Drunk Draf’. 85 

The Solid Muldoon. 54 

With the Main Guard. 73 

In the Matter op a Private. 102 

Black Jack . 121 

Only a Subaltern . Ift*? 















SOLDIERS THREE. 


THE GOD FROM THE MACHINE. 


Hit a man an* help a woman, an’ye can’t be far wrong any* 
ways .—Maocims of Private Mulvaney. 

The Inexpressibles gave a ball. They bor¬ 
rowed a seven-pounder from the Gunners, and 
wreathed it wdth laurels, and made the dancing- 
floor plate-glass, and provided a supper, the like 
of which had never been eaten before, and set 
two sentries at the door of the room to hold 
the trays of program-cards. My friend. Private 
I Mulvaney, was one of the sentries, because he 
was the tallest man in the regiment. When the 
dance was fairly started the sentries were re¬ 
leased, and Private Mulvaney fled to curry favor 
with the Mess Sergeant in charge of the supper. 
Whether the Mess Sergeant gave or Mulvaney 
took. I cannot say. All that I am certain of is 




2 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


that, at supper-time, I found Mulvaney with Pri¬ 
vate Ortheris, two-thirds of a ham, a loaf of bread, 
half a pate-de-foie-gras, and two magnums of 
champagne, sitting on the roof of my carriage. 
As I came up I heard him saying,— 

Praise be a danst doesn’t come as often as 
Ord’ly-room, or, by this an’ that, Orth’ris, me 
son, I wud be the dishgrace av the rig’mint in- 
stid av the brightest jool in uts crown.” 

Hand the Colonel’s pet noosince,” said 
Ortheris, who was a Londoner. But wot 
makes you curse your rations? This ’ere fizzy 
stuff’s good enough.” 

Stuff, ye uncivilized pagin 1 ’Tis cham-, 
pagne we’re dhrinkin’ now. ’Tisn’t that I am 
set ag’in. ’Tis this quare stuff wid the little 
bits av black leather in it. I misdoubt I will be 
distressin’ly sick wid it in the mornin*. Fwhat 
is ut?” 

Goose liver,” I said, climbing on the top of 
the carriage, for I knew that it was better to sit 
out with Mulvaney than to dance many dances. 

Goose liver is ut ? ” said Mulvaney. Faith, 
I’m thinkin’ thim that makes it wud do betther 


THE GOD FROM THE MACHINE 3 

to cut up the Colonel. He carries a power av 
liver undher his right arrum whin the days are 
warm an’ the nights chill. He wud give thim 
tons an’ tons av liver. ’Tis he sez so. ^ I’m all 
liver to-day,’ sez he; an’ wid that he ordhers me 
ten days C. B. for as moild a dhrink as iver a 
good sodger tuk betune his teeth.” 

That was when ’e wanted for to wash ’isself 
in the Fort Ditch,” Ortheris explained. ^‘Said 
there was too much beer in the Barrack water- 
butts for a God-fearing man. You was lucky in 
gittin’ orf with wot you did, Mulvaney.” 

^^You say so? Now I’m pershuaded I was 
cruel hard trated, seein’ fwhat I’ve done for the 
likes av him in the days whin my eyes were wider 
opin than they are now. Man alive, for the 
Colonel to whip me on the peg in that way! Me 
that have saved the repitation av a ten times 
better man than him! ’Twas ne-farious, an’ 
that manes a power av evil! ” 

Never mind the nefariousness,” I said. 

Whose reputation did you save ? 

More s the pity, ’twasn’t my own, but I tuk 
more trouble wid ut than av ut was. ’ Twas just 


i 


4 SOLDIERS THREE. 

rny way, messin’ wid fwhat was no business av 
mine. Hear now ! ’’ He settled himself at ease 
on the top of the carriage. I’ll tell you all about 
lit. Av coorse I will name no names, for there’s 
wan that’s an orf’cer’s lady now, that was in ut, 
and no more will I name places, for a man is 
thracked by a place.” 

Eyah! ” said Ortheris lazily, but this is a 
mixed story wot’s cornin’.” 

W anst upon a time, as the childer-books say 
I was a recruity.” 

^^Was you though?” said Ortheris, now 
that’s extryordinary! ” 

Orth’ris,” said Mulvaney, av you opin thim 
lips av yours again, I will, savin’ your presince, 
Sorr, take you by the slack av your trousers an' 
heave you.” 

^^I’m mum,” said Ortheris. ‘^Wot ’appened 
when you was a recruity ? ” 

I was a betther recruity than you iver was oi 
will be, but that’s neither here nor there. Thin 
I became a man, an’ the divil of a man I was 
fifteen years ago. They called me Buck Mulva¬ 
ney in thim days, an’, begad, I tuk a woman’s 


THE GOD FROM THE MACHINE, 5 

eye. I did that! Ortheris, ye scrub, fwhat are 
ye sniggerin’ at ? Do you misdoubt me ?” 

Devil a doubt! ” said Ortheris ; but Fve 
’eard summat like that before ! ” 

Mulvaney dismissed the impertinence with a 
lofty wave of his hand and continued,— 

An’ the orf’cers av the rig’mint I was in in 
thim days was orf’cers—gran’ men, wid a man¬ 
ner on ’em, an’ a way wid ’em such as is not 
made these days—all but wan—wan o’ the 
capt’ns. A bad dhrill, a wake voice, an’ a limp 
leg—thim three things are the signs av a bad 
man. You bear that in your hid, Orth’ris, me 
son. 

An’ the Colonel av the rig’ment had a 
daughter—wan av thim lamblike, bleatin’, pick- 
me-up-an’-carry-me-or-I’ll-die gurls such as was 
made for the natural prey av men like the Capt’n 
who was iverlastin’ payin’ coort to her, though 
the Colonel he said time an’ over, ‘ Rape out av 
the brute’s way, my dear.’ But he niver had the 
heart for to send her away from the throuble, 
bein’ as he was a widower, an’ she their wan 
child.” 


6 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


Stop a minute, Mulvaney/* said I; how in 
the world did you come to know these things ? ” 
“ How did I come ? ” said Mulvaney, with a 
scornful grunt; bekase Fm turned durin’ the 
Quane’s pleasure to a liunp av wood, lookin’ 
out straight forninst me, wid a—a—candel- 
abbrum in my hand, for you to pick your cards 
out av, must I not see nor feel? Av coorse I 
du 1 Up my back, an’ in my boots, an’ in the 
short hair av the neck—that’s were I kape my 
eyes whin I’m on duty an’ the reg’lar wans are 
fixed. . Know I Take my word for it, Sorr, ivery- 
thing an’ a great dale more is known in a rig’- 
mint; or fwhat wud be the use av a Mess Sar- 
gint, or a Sargint’s wife doin’ wet-nurse to the 
Major’s baby? To reshume. He was a bad 
dhrill was this Capt’n—a rotten bad dhrill—an’ 
whin first I ran me eye over him, I sez to myself : 
‘ My Militia bantam 1 ’ I sez, ^ my cock av a 
Gosport dunghill’—’twas from Portsmouth he 
came to us—‘ there’s combs to be cut,’ sez I, ^ an 
by the grace av God, ’tis Terence Mulvaney will 
cut thim.’ 

So he wint menowderin,’ and minanderin,’ an’ 


THE GOD FROM THE MACHINE. 7 

blandandherin* roun’ an’ about the Colonel’s 
daughter, an’ she, poor innocint, lookin’ at him 
like a Coinm’ssariat bullock looks at the Comp’ny 
cook. He’d a dhirty little scrub av a black 
mustache, an’ he twisted an’ turned ivry wurrd 
he used as av he found ut too sweet for to spit 
out. Eyah I He was a tricky man an’ a liar by 
natur’. Some are born so. He was wan. I 
knew he was over his belt in money borrowed from 
natives; besides a lot av other matthers which, in 
regard for your presince, Sorr, I will oblitherate. 
A little av fwhat I knew, the Colonel knew, for 
he wud have none av him, an’ that, I’m thinkin*, 
by fwhat happened afterwards, the Capt’n knew. 

Wan day, bein’ mortial idle, or they wud 
never ha’ thried ut, the rig’mint gave amshure 
theatricals—orf’cers an’ orf’cers’ ladies. You’ve 
seen the likes time an’ agin, Sorr, an’ poor fun 
*tis for them that sit in the back row an’ stamp 
wid their boots for the honor av the rig’mint. I 
was told off for to shif’ the scenes, haulin’ up 
this an’ draggin’ down that. Light work ut was, 
wid lashins av beer and the gurl that dhressed the 
orf cers’ ladies . . . but she died in Aggra twelve 


8 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


years gone, an’ my tongue’s gettin’ the betther 
av me. They was actin’ a play thing called 
Sweethearts^ which you may ha’ heard av, an’ the 
Colonel’s daughter she was a lady’s maid. The 
Capt’n was a boy called Broom—Spread Broom 
was his name in the play. Thin I saw—ut come 
in the actin’—fwhat I niver saw before, an’ that 
was that he was no gentleman. They was too 
much together, thim two, a-whishperin’ behind 
the scenes I shifted, an’ some av what they said 
I heard ; for I was death—blue death an’ ivy—- 
on the corab-cuttin’. He was iverlastin’ly oppress¬ 
ing her to fall in wid some sneakin’ schame av 
his, an’ she was thryin’ to stand out against him, 
but not as though she was set in her will. I 
wonder now in thim days that my ears did not 
grow a yard on me head wid list’nin’. But I 
looked straight forninst me, an’ hauled up this an’ 
dragged down that, such as was my duty, an’ the 
orf’cers’ ladies sez on one to another, thinkin’ I 
was out av listen-reach: ^ Fwhat an obligin’ young 
man is this Corp’ril Mulvaney ! ’ I was a Corp’- 
ril then. I was rejuced aftherwards, but, no 
matther, I was a Corp’ril waast. 


THE GOD FROM THE MACHINE. 9 

Well, this Sweethearts^ business wint on like 
most amshiire theatricals, an’ barrin’ fwhat I 
suspicioued, ’twasiTt till the dhress-rehearsal that 
I saw for certain that thim two—he the black¬ 
guard, an’ she no wiser than she should ha’ been 
—had put up an evasion.” ( 

“ A what ? ” said I. 

E“vasion ! Fwhat you lorruds an’ ladies call 
an elopemint. E-vasion I calls it, bekaze, ex¬ 
ceptin’ whin ’tis right an’ natural an’ proper, 
'tis wrong an’ dhirty to steal a man’s wan child 
not knowin’ her own mind. There was a Sar- 
gint in the Comm’ssariat who set my face upon 
e-vasions. I’ll tell you about that—” 

Stick to the bloomin’ Captains, Mulvaney,” 
said Ortheris; Comm’ssariat Sargints is low.” 

Mulvaney accepted the emendation and went 
on:— 

Now I knew that the Colonel was no fool, 
anv more than me, for I was hild the smartest 
man in the rig’mint, an’ the Colonel was the best 
orf’cer commandin’ in Asia; so fwhat he said an* 
I said was a mortial truth. We knew that the 
Capt’n was bad, but, for reasons which I have 


10 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


already oblitherated, I knew more than me Colo¬ 
nel. I wud ha’ rolled out his face wid the butt 
av my gun before permittin’ av him to steal the 
gurl. Saints knew av he wud ha’ married her. 
and av he didn’t she wud be in great tormint, an’ 
the divil av what you, Sorr, call a ^scandal.’ 
But I niver sthruck, niver raised me hand on 
my shuperior orf’cer; an’ that was a merricle 
now I come to considher it.” 

Mulvaney, the dawn’s risin’,” said Orthe- 
ris, an’ we’re no nearer ’ome than we was at 
the beginnin’. Lend me your pouch. Mine’s 
all dust.” 

Mulvaney pitched his pouch across, and filled 
his pipe afresh. 

So the dhress-rehearsal came to an end, an’, 
bekaze I was curious, I stayed behind whin the 
scene-shiftin’ was ended, an’ I shud ha’ been in 
barricks, lyin’ as flat as a toad under a painted 
cottage thing. They was talkin’ in whispers, an’ 
she was shiverin’ an’ gaspin’ like a fresh-hukked 
fish. Are you sure you’ve got the hang av the 
manewvers ? ’ sez he, or wurrds to that effec’, as 
the coort-martial sez. ‘ Sure as death,’ sez she, 


THE GOD FROM THE MACHINE. II 

^ but I misdoubt ’tis cruel hard on my father.* 
* Damn your father/ sez he, or anyways 'twas 
fwhat he thought, ^the arrangement is as clear 
as mud. Jungi will drive the carriage afther all's 
over, an* you come to the station, cool an* aisy, 
in time for the two o’clock thrain, where Fli be 
wid your kit.’ ^ Faith,’ thinks I to myself, ‘ thin 
there’s a ayah in the business tu 1 ’ 

A powerful bad thing is a ayah. Don’t you 
niver have any thruck wid wan. Thin ne began 
sootherin’ her, an’ all the orf’cers an’ orf’cers* 
ladies left, an’ they put out the lights. To ex¬ 
plain the theory av the flight, as they say at 
Muskthry, you must understand that afther this 
Sweethearts^ nonsinse was ended, there was an¬ 
other little bit av a play called Couples —some 
kind av couple or another. The gurl was actin’ in 
this, but not the man. I suspicioned he’d go to 
the station wid the gurl’s kit at the end av the 
first piece. *Twas the kit that flusthered me, for 
I knew for a Capt’n to go trapesing about the 
impire wid the Lord knew what av a truso on his 
arrum was nefarious, an’wud be worse than easin’ 
the flag, so far as the talk aftherwards wint.” 


12 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


^^’Old on, Mulvaney. Wot’s truso?^^ said 
Ortlieris. 

You’re an oncivilized man, me son. Whin 
a gull’s married, all her kit an’ ’couterments are 
which manes weddin’-portion. An’ ’tis the 
same whin she’s runnin’ away, even wid the big¬ 
gest blackguard on the Arrmy List. 

So I made my plan av campaign. The 
Colonel’s house was a good two miles away. 
‘ Dennis,’ sez I to my color-sargint, ‘ av you love 
me, lend me your kyart, for me heart is bruk an’ 
me feet is sore wid trampin’ to and from this 
foolishness at the Gaff.’ An’ Dennis lent ut, 
wid a rampin’, stampin’ red stallion in the shafts. 
Whin they was all settled down to their Sweet^ 
hearts for the first scene, which was a long wan, 
I slips outside and into the kyart. Mother av 
Hivin 1 but I made that horse walk, an’ we came 
into the Colonel’s compound as the divil wint 
through Athlone—in standin’ leps. There was 
no one there excipt the servints, an’ I wint round 
to the back an’ found the girl’s ayah. 

^ Ye black brazen Jezebel,’ sez I, ^ sellin’ 
your masther’s honor for five rupees—pack up 


THE GOD FROM THE MACHINE. 13 

all the Miss Sahib’s kit, an’ look slippy ! Capfn 
SahiVs order/ sez I; ^ going to the station we 
are,’ I sez, an’ wid that I laid my finger to my 
nose an’ looked the schamin’ sinner I was. 

^ Bote aecliy^ says she ; so I knew she was 
in the business, an’ I piled up all the sweet talk 
I’d iver learnt in the bazars on to this she-bullock, 
an’ prayed av her to put all the quick she knew 
into the thing. While she packed, I stud out¬ 
side an’ sweated, for I was wanted for to shif’ 
the second scene. I tell you, a young gurl’s 
e-vasion manes as much baggage as a rig’mint 
on the line av march! ^ Saints help Dennis’s 

springs,’ thinks I, as I bundled the stuff into the 
thrap, ^ for I’ll have no mercy ! ’ 

^ I’m cornin’ too,’ says the ayah. 

^ No, you don’t,’ sez I, ‘ later^— -pechy ! You 
haito where you are. V\[ pechy come an’ bring 
sai'ty along with me, you maraudin’ ’—niver mind 
fwhat I called her. 

Thin I wint for the Gaff, an’ by the special 
ordher av Providence, for I was doin’ a good 
work you will ondersthand, Dennis’s springs hild 
toight. ^ Now, whin the Capt’n goes for that kit,’ 


H 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


thinks I, ^ he’ll he throubled.’ At the end av Sweet* 
heai'ts off the Capt’n runs in his kyart to the 
Colonel’s house, an’ I sits down on the steps and 
laughs. Wanst an’ again I slipped in to see how 
the little piece was goin’, whin ut was near endin’ 
I stepped out ail among the carriages an’ sings 
out very softly, ^Jungil’ Wid that a carr’ge 
began to move, an’ I waved to the dhriver. 
^Hitherao ! ’ sez I, an’ he liitheraoed till I judged 
he was at proper distance, an’ thin I tukliim, fair 
an’ square betune the eyes, all I knew for good 
or bad, an’ he dhropped wid a guggle like the 
canteen beer-engine whin ut’s runnin’ low. Thin 
I ran to the kyart an’ tuk out all the kit an’ piled 
it into the carr’ge, the sweat runnin’ down my 
face in dhrops. ^ Go home,’ sez I, to the sais ; 
‘ you’ll find a man close here. Very sick he is. 
Take him away, an’ av you iver say wslu wurrd 
about f what you’ve dekkoed^ I’ll marrow you till 
your own wife won’t sumjao who you are ! ’ Thin 
I heard the stampin’ av feet at the ind av the play, 
an’ I ran in to let down the curtain. Whin they all 
came out the gurl thried to hide herself behind wan 
av the pillars, an’ sez ^ Jungi ’ in a voice that wudn’t 


THE GOD FROM THE MACHINE. 15 

ha' scared a hare. I ran over to Jungi’s carr’ge 
an’ tuk up the lousy old horse-blanket on the box, 
wrapped my head an’ the rest av me in ut, an* 
dhrove up to where she was. 

‘ Miss Sahib,’ sez I; Agoing to the station ? 
Captain Sahib’s order ! ’ an’ widoiit a sign she 
jumped in all among her own kit. 

I laid to an’ dhruv like steam to the Colonel’s 
house before the Colonel was there, an she 
screamed an’ I thought she was goin’ ofP. Out 
comes the ayah, saying all sorts av things about 
the Capt’n havin’ come for the kit an’ gone to 
the station. 

^ Take out the luggage, you divil,’ sez I, ^ or 
I’ll murther you ! ’ 

The lights av the thraps people cornin’ from 
the Gaff was showin’ acrost the parade ground, 
an’, by this an’ that, the way thim two women 
worked at the bundles an’ thrunks was a caution 1 
I was dyin’ to help, but, seein’ I didn’t want to 
be known, I sat wid the blanket roun’ me an’ 
couo’hed an’ thanked the Saints there was no 

o 

moon that night. 

“ Whin all was in the house again, I niver asked 


i6 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


for hukshish but dhruv tremenjus in the opp’site 
way from the other carr’ge an’ put out my lights. 
Presintly, I saw a naygur man wallowin’ in the 
road. I slipped down before I got to him, for I 
suspicioned Providence was wid me all through 
that night. ’Twas Jungi, his nose smashed in flat, 
all dumb sick as you please. Dennis’s man must 
have tilted him out av the thrap. Whin he came 
to, ^ Hutt 1 ’ sez I, but he began to howl. 

^ You black lump av dirt,’ I sez, ^is this the 
way you dhrive your gharri ? That tikka has 
been owin^ fere-owin^ all over the bloomin’ 
country this whole bloomin’ night, an’ you as 
mut-walla as Davey’s sow. Get up, you hog ! ’ 
sez I, louder, for I heard the wheels av a thrap in 
the dark ; ^ get up an’ light your lamps, or you’ll 
be run into 1 ’ This was on the road to the 
Railway Station. 

^ Fwliat the divil’s this ? ’ sez the Capt’n’s 
voice in the dhark, an’ I could judge he was in a 
lather av rage. 

Gharri dhriver here, dhrunk, Sorr,’ sez I; 
^I’ve found his gharri sthrayin’ about canton- 
mints, an’ now I’ve found himJ 


THE GOD FROM THE MACHINE. 17 

^ Oh! ’ sez the Capt’n ; ^ fwhat’s his name ?' 
I stooped down an’ pretended to listen. 

^ He sez his name’s Jungi, Sorr,’ sez I. 

' Hould my harse/ sez the Capt’n to his man, 
an’ wid that he gets down wid the whip an’ lays 
into Jungi, just mad wid rage an’ swearin’ like 
the scutt he was. 

I thought, afther a while, he wud kill the 
man, so I sez:—‘ Stop, Sorr, or you’ll murdher 
him! ’ That dhrew all his fire on me, an’ he 
cursed me into Blazes, an’ out again. I stud to 
attenshin an’ saluted :—‘ Sorr,’ sez I, ‘ av ivry 
man in this wurruld had his rights, I’m thinkin’ 
that more than wan wud he beaten to a shakin’ 
jelly for this night’s work—that never came off at 
all, Sorr, as you see ! ’ ^ Now,’ thinks I to myself, 

^ Terence Mulvaney, you’ve cut your own throat, 
for he’U sthrike, an’ you’ll knock him down for 
the good av his sowl an’ your own iverlastin’ 
dishgrace 1 ’ 

^^But the Capt’n never said a single wurrd. 
He choked where he stud, an’ thin he went into 
his thrap widout sayin’ good-night, an’ I wint 
back to barricks.” 


i8 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


And then ? ’’ said Ortlieris and I together. 

^^That was all/’ said Mulvaney; ^^niver an 
other word did I hear av the whole thing. All 
I know was that there was no e-vasion, an’ that 
was f what I wanted. Now, I put ut to you, Sorr, 
is ten days’ C. B. a fit an’ a proper tratement for 
a man who has behaved as me ? ” 

Well, any’ow,” said Ortlieris, ’tweren’t this 
’ere Colonel’s daughter, an’ you was blazin’ 
copped when you tried to wash in the Fort Ditch.” 

That,” said Mulvaney, finishing the cham¬ 
pagne, is a shuparfluous an’ impert’nint obser 
vation.” 


PRIVATE LEAROYD’S STORY. 


19 


PRIVATE LEAROYD’S STORY. 


And he told a tale. —Chronicles of Gautama Buddha, 

Far from the haunts of Company Officers who 
insist upon kit-inspections, far from keen-nosed 
Sergeants who snilf the pipe stuffed into the bed¬ 
ding-roll, two miles from the tumult of the bar¬ 
racks, lies the Trap. It is an old dry well, 
shadowed by a twisted tree and fenced with 

high grass. Here, in the years gone by, did 
Private Ortheris establish his depot and mena¬ 
gerie for such possessions, living and dead, as 
could not safely be introduced to the barrack- 
room. Here were gathered Houdin pullets, and 
fox-terriers of undoubted pedigree and more than 
doubtful ownership, for Ortheris was an inveter¬ 
ate poacher and pre-eminent among a regiment of 
neat-handed dog-stealers. 

Never again will the long lazy evenings return 



20 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


wherein Ortheris^ whistling softly, moved surgeon- 
wise among the captives of his craft at the bottom 
of the well; when Learoyd sat in the niche, giw 
ing sage counsel on the management of tykes,” 
and Mulvaney, from the crook of the overhang¬ 
ing waved his enormous boots in benedic¬ 

tion above our heads, delighting us with tales of 
Love and War, and strange experiences of cities 
and men. 

Ortheris—landed at last in the little stuff 
bird-shop ” for which your soul longed ; Learoyd 
—back again in the smoky, stone-ribbed North, 
amid the clang of the Bradford looms ; Mulva¬ 
ney—grizzled, tender, and very wise Ulysses, 
sweltering on the earthwork of a Central India 
line—judge if I have forgotten old days in the 
Trap! 

Orth’ris, as alius thinks he knaws more than 
other foaks, said she wasn’t a real laady, but nob- 
but a Hewrasian. I don’t gainsay as her culler 
was a bit doosky like. But she was a laady. 
Why, she rode iv a carriage, an’ good ’osses, too, 
an’ her ’air was that oiled as you could see your 


PRIVATE LEAROYD’s STORY. 21 

faice in it, an’ she wore dimond rings an' a goold 
chain, an’ silk an’ satin dresses as mun ’a’ cost a 
deal, for it isn’t a cheap shop as keeps enough o’ 
one pattern to fit a figure like hers. Her name 
was Mrs. DeSussa, an’t’ waay I coom to be ac¬ 
quainted wi’ her was along of our Colonel’s 
Laady’s dog Rip. 

I’ve seen a vast o’ dogs, but Rip was t’ pretti¬ 
est picter of a diver fox-tarrier ’at iver I set eyes 
on. He could do owt you like but speeak, an’t’ 
Colonel’s Laady set more store by him than if he 
had been a Christian. She hed bairns of her 
awn, but they was i’ England, and Rip seemed to 
get all t’ coodlin’ and pettin’ as belonged to a 
bairn by good right. 

But Rip were a bit on a rover, an’ hed a habit 
o’ breakin’ out o’ barricks like, and trottin’ round 
t’ plaice as if he were t’ Cantonment Magistrate 
coom round inspectin’. The Colonel leathers 
him once or twice, but Rip didn’t care an’ ke^^t 
on gooin’ his rounds, wi’ his taail a-waggin’ as if 
he were flag-signallin’ to t’ world at large ’at 
he was gettin’ on nicely, thank yo, and how’s 
yo’sen ? ” An’ then t’ Colonel, as was noa sort 


22 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


of a hand wi’ a dog, tees him oop. A real clip 
per of dog, an’ it’s noa wonder yon laady, Mrs. 
DeSussa, should tek a fancy tiv him. Theer’s 
one o’ t’ Ten Commandments says yo maun’t 
CUV vet your neehor’s ox nor his jackass, hut it 
doesn’t say nowt about his tarrier dogs, an’ hap 
pen thot’s t’ reason why Mrs. DeSv^ssa cuvveted 
Rip, tho’ she went to church reg’lar along wi’ her 
husband who was so mich darker ’at if he hedn’ 
such a good coaat tiv’ his back yo might ha’ 
called him a black man and nut tell a lee nawther. 
They said he addled his brass i’ jute, an’ he’d a 
rare lot on it. 

Well, you seen, when they teed Rip up t’ poor 
awd lad didn’t enjoy very good ’elth. So t’ Col¬ 
onel’s Laady sends for me as ’ad a naame for 
bein’ knowledgeable about a dog, an’ axes what’s 
ailin’ wi’ him. 

Why,” says I, he’s getten t’ mopes, an’ 
what he wants is his libbaty an’ coompany like 
t’ rest on us; wal happen a rat or two ’ud liven 
him oop. It’s low, mum,” says I, is rats, but 
it’s t’ nature of a dog; an’ soa’s cuttin’ round 
an’ meetin’ another dog or two an’ passin t’ time 


PRIVATE LEAROYD'S STORY. 


23 

o* day, an’ liewin’ a bit of a turn-up wi’ him 
like a Christian.” 

So she says her dog maunt niver fight an’ noa 
Christians iver fought. 

Then what’s a soldier for?” says I; an’I 
explains to her t’ coutrairy qualities of a dog, ’at, 
when yo’ coom to think on’t, is one o’ t’ curusest 
things as is. For they larn to behave theirsens 
like gentlemen born, fit for t’ fost o’ coompany 
—they tell me t’ Widdy herself is fond of a good 
dog and knaws one when she sees it as well as 
onny body: then on t* other hand a-tewin’ round 
after cats on’ gettin’ mixed oop i’ aU manners o’ 
blackguardly street rows, an’ killin’ rats, an’ 
fightin’ like divils. 

T’ Colonel’s Laady says:—^^Well, Learoyd, 
1 doan’t agree wi’ you, but you’re right in a w^ay 
o’ speeaMn’, an’ I should like yo’ to tek Rip out 
a walkin’ wi’ you sometimes ) but yo’ maun’t let 
him fight, nor chase cats, nor do nowt ’orrid ” : 
an’ them was her very w^ods. 

Soa Rip an’ me gooes out a-walkin’ o’ evenin’s, 
he bein’ a dog as did credit tiv’ a man, an’ 1 
catches a lot 0’ rats an’ we hed a bit of a match 


24 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


on ill an awd dry swimmin’-batli at back o' t’ 
cantonments, an’ it was none so long afore be was 
as bright as a button again. He bed a way o’ 
fly in’ at them big yaller pariah dogs as if be was 
/ a barrow off an a bow, an’ though bis weight were 
iiowt, be tuk ’em so suddint-bke they rolled over 
like skittles in a bailey, an’ when they coot he 
stretched after ’em as if be were rabbit-runnin’. 
Sciame with cats when he cud get t’ cat agaate 
o’ runnin’. 

One evenin’, him an’ me was trespassin’ o^wer 
a compound wall after one of them mongooses 
’at he’d started, an’ we was busy grubbin’ round 
a prickle-bush, an’ when we looks up there was 
Mrs. DeSussa wi’ a parasel ower her shoulder, 
a-watcliin’ us. Oh my ! ” she sings out; there’s 
that lovelee dog! Would he let me stroke him, 
Mister Soldier ? ” 

Ay, he would, mum,” sez I, for he’s fond 
o’ laady’s coompany. Coom here, Rip, an’ speeak 
to this kind laady.” An’ Rip, seein’ ’at t’ mon¬ 
goose bed gotten clean awaay, cooms up liket’ 
gentleman he was, nivver a hauporth shy nor 
okkord. 


PRIVATE LEAROYD’s STORY. 2 5 

Oh, you beautiful—^you prettee dog ! ” she 
says, clippin” an’ chantin’ her speech in a way 
them sooart has o’ their awn ; I would like a 
dog like you. You are so verree lovelee—so 
awfullee prettee,” an’ all thot sort o’ talk, ’at a 
dog o’ sense mebbe thinks nowt on, tho’ he bides 
it by reason o’ his breedin’. 

An’ then I meks him joomp ovver my swagger 
cane, an’ shek hands, an’ beg, an’ lie dead, an’ a 
lot o’ them tricks as laadies teeaches dogs, though 
1 doan’t hand with it mysen, for it’s makin’ a 
fool o’ a good dog to do such like. 

An’ at lung length it cooms out ’at she’d been 
thrawin’ sheep’s eyes, as t’ sayin’ is, at Rip for 
many a day. Yo’ see, her childer was grown 
up, an’ she’d nowt mich to do, an’ were alius 
fond of a doof. Soa she axes me if I’d tek some- 
thin’ to dhrink. An’ we goes into t’ drawn-room 
wheer her ’usband was a-settin’. They meks a 
gurt fuss ovver t’ dog an’ I has a bottle o’ aale 
an’ he gave me a handful o’ cigars. 

Soa I coomed aw^ay, but t’ awd lass sings out 
—Oh, Mister Soldier, please coom again and 
bring that prettee dog.’' 


26 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


I (lidn^t let on to t^ Colonel’s Laady about Mrs, 
DeSiissa, and Kip, he says nowt nawther; an’ 
I gooes again, an’ ivry time there was a good 
dhrink an’ a handful o’ good smooaks. An’ I 
telled t’ awd lass a heeap more about Rip than 
Fd ever heeared ; how he tuk t’ fost prize at Lun- 
non dog-show and cost thotty-three pounds fower 
shillin’ from t’ man as bred him; ’at his own 
brother was t’ propputty o’ t’ Prince o’ Wailes, 
an’ ’at he had a pedigree as long as a Dook’s. An’ 
she lapped it all oop an’ were niver tired o’ admir¬ 
in’ him. But when t’ awd lass took to givin’ me 
money an’ I seed ’at she were gettin’ fair fond 
about t’ dog, I began to suspicion summat. Onny 
body may give a soldier t’ price of a pint in a 
friendly way an’ theer’s no ’arm done, but when 
it cooms to five rupees slipt into your hand, sly 
like, why, it’s what t’ ’lectioneerin’ fellows calls 
bribery an’ corruption. Specially when Mrs. 
DeSiissa threwed hints how t’ cold weather would 
soon be ovver an’ she was goin’ to Munsooree 
Pahar an’ we was goin’ to Rawalpindi, an’ she 
would niver see Rip any more onless somebody 
she knowed on would be kind tiv her. 


PRIVATE LEAROYD'S STORY. 27 

Soa I tells Mulvaney an^ Ortheris all t’ taale 
thro’, beginnin’ to end. 

’Tis larceny that wicked ould laady manes,” 
says t’ Irishman, ’tis felony she is sejuicin’ ye 
into, my friend Learoyd, but I’ll purtect your in- 
nocince. I’ll save ye from the wicked wiles av 
that wealthy ould woman, an’ I’ll go wid ye this 
evenin’ and spake to her the wurrds av truth an’ 
honesty. But Jock,” says he, waggin’ his heead, 
’twas not like ye to kape all that good dhrink 
an’ thim fine cigars to yerself, while Orth’ris here 
an’ me have been prowlin’ round wid throats as 
dry as lime-kilns, and nothin’ to smoke but Can¬ 
teen plug. ’Twas a dhirty thrick to play on a 
comrade, for why should you, Learoyd, be balanc¬ 
in’ yourself on the butt av a satin chair, as if 
Terence Mulvaney was not the aquil av anybody 
who thrades in jute ! ” 

Let alone me,” sticks in Orth’ris, but that’s 
like life. Them wot’s really fitted to decorate 
society get no show while a blunderin’ Yorkshire- 
man like you—” 

Nay,” says I, it’s none o’ t’ blunderin' York- 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


2H 

shireman she wants, it’s Rip. He’s t’ gentleman 
this journey.” 

Soa t’ next day, Miilvaney an’ Rip an’ me goes 
to Mrs. DeSussa’s, an’t’ Irishman bein’ a strainger 
she wor a bit shy at fost. But yo’ve heeard Muh 
vaney talk, an’ yo’ may believe as he fairly be- 
witched t’ awd lass wal she let out ’at she wanted 
to tek Rip away wi’ her to Munsooree Pahar. 
Then Mulvaney changes his tune an’ axes her sol¬ 
emn-like if she’d thought o’ t’ consequences o* 
gettin’ two poor but honest soldiers sent t’ An- 
damning Islands. Mrs. DeSussa began to cry, so 
Mulvaney turns round oppen t’ other tack and 
smooths her down, allowin’ ’at Rip ud be a vast 
better off in t’ hills than down i’ Bengal, and 
’twas a pity he shouldn’t go wheer he was so well 
beliked. And soa he went on, backin’ an’ fillin’ 
an’ workin’ up t’ awd lass wal she felt as if her 
life warn’t worth nowt if she didn’t heve t’ dog. 

Then all of a suddint he says :—But ye shall 
have him, marm, for I’ve a feelin’ heart, not like 
this could-blooded Yorkshireman ; but ’twill cost 
ye not a penny less than three hundher 
rupees.” 


PRIVATE LEAROYD’S STORY. 29 

Don’t yo’ believe him, mum,” says I; 
Colonel’s Laady wouldn’t tek five hundred for 
him.” 

Who said she would ? ” says Mulvaney; it’s 
not buyin’ him I mane, but for the sake o’ this 
kind, good laady. I’ll do what I never dreamt to 
do in my life. I’ll stale him! ” 

Don’t say steal,” says Mrs. DeSussa; he 
shall have the happiest home. Dogs often get 
lost, you know, and then they stray, an’ he likes 
me and I like him as I niver liked a dog yet, an’ 
I mast hev him. If I got him at t’ last minute 
I could carry him off to Munsooree Pahar and 
nobody would niver knawC^’ 

Now an’ again Mulvaney looked acrost at me, 
an’ though I could mak nowt o’ what he was 
after, I concluded to take his leead. 

Well, mum,” I says, T never thowt to coom 
down to dog‘steealln’, but if my comrades sees how 
it could be done to oblige a laady like yo’sen, I’m 
nut t’ man to hod back, tho’ it’s a bad business 
I’m thinkin’, an’ three hundred rupees is a poor 
set-off again t’ chance of them Damning Islands 
as Mulvaney talks ou 


30 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


I’ll mek it three fifty,” says Mrs. DeSussa \ 
only let me hev t’ dog ! ” 

So we let her persuade us, an’ she teks Rip’s 
measure theer an’ then, an’ sent to Hamilton’s to 
order a silver collar again t’ time when he was to 
be her awn, which was to be t’ day she set off for 
Munsooree Pahar. 

Sitha, Mulvaney,” says I, when he was out¬ 
side, you’re niver goin* to let her hev Rip 1 ” 

An’ would ye disappoint a poor old woman ? ” 
says he; she shall have a Rip.” 

An’ wheer’s he to come through ? ” says I. 

Learoyd, my man,” he sings out, you’re a 
pretty man av your inches an’ a good comrade, 
hut your head is made av duff. Isn’t our friend 
Orth’ris a Taxidermist, an’ a rale artist wid his 
nimble white fingers ? An’ what’s a Taxidermist 
hut a man who can thrate shkins ? Do ye mind 
the white dog that belongs to the Canteen Sar- 
gint, bad cess to him—he that’s lost half his time 
an’ snarlin’ the rest ? He shall be lost for good 
now; an’ do ye mind that he’s the very spit in 
shape an’ size av the Colonel’s, barrin’ that his 
tail is an inch too long, an’ he has none av the color 


PRIVATE LEAROYD’S STORY. 31 

that divarsifies the rale Rip, an’ his timper is that 
av his masther an’ worse. But fwhat is an inch 
on a dog’s tail? An’ fwhat to a professional 
like Orth’ris is a few ringstraked shpots av black, 
brown, an’ white ? Nothin’ at all, at all.” 

Then we meets Orth’ris, an’ that little man, 
bein’ sharp as a needle, seed his way through t’ 
business in a minute. An’ he went to work 
a-practisin’ ’air-dyes the very next day, beginnin’ 
on some white rabbits he had, an’ then he drored 
all Rip’s markin’s on t’ back of a white Commis¬ 
sariat bullock, so as to get his ’and in an’ be sure 
of his colors; shadin’ off brown into black as 
nateral as life. If Rip hed a fault it was too 
mich markin’, but it was straingely reg’lar an' 
Ortli’ris settled himself to make a fost-rate job on 
it when he got baud o’ t’ Canteen Sargint’s dog. 
Theer iiiver was sich a dog as thot for bad tem¬ 
per, an’ it did nut get no better when his tail hed 
to be fettled an inch an’ a half shorter. But 
they may talk o’ theer Royal Academies as they 
like. I niver seed a bit o’ animal paintin’ to beat 
t’ copy as Orth’ris made of Rip’s marks, wal t’ 
picter itself was snarlin’ all t’ time an’ tryin’ to 


32 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


get at Eip standin’ theer to be copied as good as 
goold. 

Orth’ris alius lied as micb conceit on liimsen 
as would lift a balloon, an’ he wor so pleeased 
wi’ his sham Eip he wor for tekking him to Mrs. 
DeSussa before she went away. But Mulvaney 
an’ me stopped thot, knowin’ Orth’ris’s work, 
though niver so diver, was nobbut skin-deep. 

An’ at last Mrs. DeSussa fixed t’ day for start¬ 
in’ to Munsooree Pahar. We was to tek Eip to 
t’ stayshun i’ a basket an’ hand him ovver just 
when they was ready to start, an’ then she’d give 
us t’ brass—as was agreed upon. 

An’ my wod! It were high time she were off, 
for them ’air-dyes upon t’ cur’s back took a vast 
of paintin’ to keep t’ reet culler, tho’ Orth’ris 
spent a matter o’ seven rupees six annas i’t’ best 
drooggist shops i’ Calcutta. 

An’t’ Canteen Sargint was lookin’ for ’is dog 
everywheer; an’, wi’ bein’ tied up, t’ beast’s tim- 
per got waur nor ever. 

It wor i’t’ evenin’ when t’ train started thro' 
Howrah, an’ we ’elped Mrs. DeSussa wi’ about 
sixty boxes, an’ then we gave her t’ basket. 


PRIVATE LEAROYD’S STORY 33 

Orth’ris, for pride av his work, axed us to let him 
coom along wi’ us, an’ he couldn’t help liftin' t’ 
lid an’ showin’t’ cur as he lay coiled oop. 

Oh ! ” says t’ awd lass ; the beautee ! How 
sweet he looks ! ” An’ just then t’ beauty snarled 
an’ showed his teeth, so Mulvaney shuts down t’ 
lid and says : Ye’ll be careful, inarm, whin ye 
tek him out. He’s disaccustomed to traveling 
by t’ railway, an’ he’ll be sure to want his rale 
mistress an’ his friend Learoyd, so ye’ll make al¬ 
lowance for his feelings at fost.” 

She would do all thot an’ more for the dear, 
good Rip, an’ she would nut oppen t’ basket till 
they were miles away, for fear anybody should 
recognize him, an’ we were real good and kind 
soldier-men, we were, an’ she bonds me a bundle 
o’ notes, an’ then cooms up a few of her relations 
an’ friends to say good-by—not more than sev¬ 
enty-five there wasn’t—an’ we cuts away. 

What coom to t’ three hundred and fifty ru¬ 
pees ? Thot’s whot I can scarcelins tell you, but 
we melted it. It was share an’ share ahke, for 
Mulvaney said: If Learoyd got hold of Mrs. 

DeSussa first, sure ’twas I that remimbered the 
1 


34 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


Sargint’s dog just in the nick av time, an* Orth’- 
ris was the artist av janius that made a work av 
art out av that ugly piece av ill-nature. Yet, by 
way av a thank-offerin’ that I was not led into 
felony by that wicked ould woman, I’ll send a 
thrifle to Father Victor for the poor people he’s 
always heggin’ for.” 

But me an’ Orth’ris, he bein’ Cockney an’ 1 
bein’ pretty far north, did nut see it i’t’ saame 
way. We’d getten’t brass, an’ we meaned to 
keep it. An’ soa we did—for a short time. 

Noa, noa, we niver heeard a wod more o’ t’ 
awd lass. Our rig’mint went to Pindi, an’ t’ 
Canteen Sargint he got himself another tyke in- 
steead o’ t’ one ’at got lost so reg’lar, an’ was 
lost for good at last. 


THE BIG DRUNK DRAF’. 


35 


THE BIG DRUNK DRAF. 


We’re goin’ ’ome, we’re goin’ 'ome— 

Our ship is at the shore, 

An’ you mus’ jiack your ’aversack, 

For we won’t come back no more. 

Ho, don’t you grieve for me, 

My lovely Mary Ann, 

For I’ll marry you yet on a fourp’ny bit, 

As a time expired ma-a-an I 

Barrack-room Ballad. 

An awful thing* has happened ! My friend, 
Private Mulvaney, who went home in the Serajns 
time-expired, not very long ago, has come back 
to India as a civilian ! It was all Dinah Shadd’s 
fault. She could not stand the poky little lodg¬ 
ings, and she missed her servant Abdullah more 
than words could tell. The fact was that the 
Mulvaneys had been out here too long, and had 
lost touch of England. ^ 

Mulvaney knew a contractor on one of the new 
Central India lines, and wrote to him for some 



36 SOLDIERS THREE. 

sort of work. The contractor said that if Mul« 
vaney could pay the passage he would give him 
command of a gang of coolies for old sake’s sake. 
The pay was eighty-five rupees a month, and 
Dinah Shadd said that if Terence did not accept 
she would make his life, a blasted purgathory.” 
Therefore the Mulvaneys came out as civilians,” 
which was a great and terrible fall; though Mul- 
vaney tried to disguise it, by saying that he was 
Ker’nel on the railway line, an’ a consequinshal 
man.” 

He wrote me an invitation, on a tool-indent 
form, to visit him ; and I came down to the funny 
little construction ” bungalow at the side of the 
line. Dinah Shadd had planted peas about and 
about, and nature had spread all manner of green 
stuff round the place. There was no change in 
Mulvaney except the change of raiment, which 
was deplorable, but could not be helped. He 
was standing upon his trolly, haranguing a gang- 
man, and his shoulders were as well drilled, and 
his big, thick chin was as clean-shaven as ever. 

I’m a civilian now,” said Mulvaney. Cud 
you tell that I was iver a martial man ? Don’t 


THE BIG DRUNK DRAF*. 37 

answer, Sorr, av you’re strainin’ betune a com- 
plimint an’ a lie. lliere’s no hoiildin’ Dinah 
Sliadd now she’s got a house av her own. Go in¬ 
side, an’ dhrink tay out av chiny in the drrrrawin’- 
room, an’ thin we’ll dhrink like Christians undher 
the tree here. Scutt, ye naygur-folk ! There’s a 
Sahib come to call on me, an’ that’s more than 
he’ll iver do for you unless you run ! Get out, 
an’ go on pilin’ up the earth, quick, till sun¬ 
down.” 

When we three were comfortably settled under 
the big sisham in front of the bungalow, and 
the first rush of questions and answers about 
Privates Ortheris and Learoyd and old times and 
places had died away, Mulvaney said, reflectively. 

Glory be there’s no p’rade to-morrow, an’ no 
bunheaded Corp’ril-bhoy to give you his lip. An’ 
yit I don’t know. ’Tis harrd to be something ye 
niver were an’ niver meant to be, an’ all the ould 
lays shut up along wid your papers. Eyah! 
I’m growin’ rusty, an’ ’tis the will av God that a 
man mustn’t serve his Quane for time an’ all.” 

He helped himself to a fresh peg, and sighed 
furiously. 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


38 

Let your beard grow, Mulvaney,” said I, and 
then you won’t be troubled with those notions. 
You’ll be a real civilian.” 

Dinah Shadd had confided to me in the draw¬ 
ing-room her desire to coax Mulvaney into letting 
his beard grow. ’Twas so civilian-like,” said 
poor Dinah, who hated her husband’s hankering 
for his old life. 

Dinah Shadd, you’re a dishgrace to an honust, 
clane-scraped man 1 ” said Mulvaney, without re¬ 
plying to me. Grow a beard on your own chin, 
darlint, and lave my razors alone. They’re all 
that stand betune me and dis-ris-pect-ability. Ay 
I didn’t shave, I wud be torminted wid an out- 
rajis thurrst; for there’s nothin’ so dhryin’ to 
the throat as a big billy-goat beard waggin’ un- 
her the chin. Ye wudn’t have me dhrink always^ 
Dinah Shadd ? By the same token, you’re 
kapin’ me crool dhry now. Let me look at that 
whisky.” 

The whisky was lent and returned, but Dinah 
Shadd, who had been just as eager as her hus¬ 
band in asking after old friends, rent me with,— 

I take shame for you, Sorr, cornin’ down here 


THE BIG DRUNK DRAF’. 39 

—though the Saints know you’re as welkim as 
the daylight whin you do come—an’ .,psettin' 
Terence’s head wid your nonsense about—about 
fwhat’s much better forgotten. He bein’ a civ¬ 
ilian now, an’ you niver was aught else. Can 
you not let the Arrmy rest? ’Tis not good for 
Terence.” 

I took refuge by Mulvaney, for Dinah Shadd 
has a temper of her own. 

Let be—let be,” said Mulvaney. ’Tis only 
wanst in a way I can talk about the ould days.” 
Then to me :—“ Ye say Dhrumshticks is well, an’ 
his lady tu ? I niver knew how I liked the gray 
garron till I was shut av him an’ Asia.”— 
Dhrumshticks ” was the nickname of the Colo¬ 
nel commanding Mulvaney’s regiment.—Will 
you be seein’ him again ? You will. Thin tell 
him ”—Mulvaney’s eyes began to twinkle—tell 
him wid Privit—” 

Mister y Terence,” interrupted Dinah Shadd. 

Now the Divil an’ all his angels an’ the firma¬ 
ment av Hiven fly away wid the ^ Mister,’ an’ the sin 
av makin’ me swear be on your confession, Dinah 
Shadd! Privit, I tell ye. Wid Privit Mul- 


40 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


vaney’s best obedience, that but for me the fest 
time-expired wud be still pullin’ hair on their way 
to the sea.” 

He threw himself back in the chair, chuckled, 
and was silent. 

Mrs. Mulvaney,” I said, please take up the* 
whisky, and don’t let him have it until he has 
told the story.” 

Dinah Shadd dexterously whipped the bottle 
away, saying at the same time, ’Tis nothing to 
be proud av,” and thus captured by the enemy, 
Mulvaney spake:— 

’Twas on Chuseday week. I was behaderin’ 
round wid the gangs on the ’bankmint—I’ve 
taught the hoppers how to kape step an’ stop 
screechin’—whin a head-gangman comes up to 
me, wid about two inches av shirt-tail hanging 
round his neck an’ a disthressful light in his oi. 
^ Sahib,’ sez he, ^ there’s a reg’mint an’ a half av 
soldiers up at the junction, knockin’ red cinders 
out av ivrything an’ ivrybody ! They thried to 
hang me in my cloth,’ he sez, ^ an’ there will be 
murder an’ ruin an’ rape in the place before 
nightfall! They say they’re cornin’ down here 


THE BIG DRUNK DRAF'. 


41 


to wake us up. What will we do wid our women¬ 
folk?” 

^ Fetch my throlly! ’ sez I; ^ my heart’s sick 
in my ribs for a wink at anything wid the Quane’s 
uniform on ut. Fetch my throlly, an’ six av the 
jildiest men, and run me up in shtyle.’ ” 

He tuk his best coat,” said Dinah Shadd re¬ 
proachfully. 

’Twas to do honor to the Widdy. I cud ha’ 
done no less, Dinah Shadd. You and your di- 
gresshins interfere wid the coorse av the narra¬ 
tive. Have you iver considhered fwhat I wud 
look like wid me head, shaved as well as my chin ? 
You bear that in your mind, Dinah darlin’. 

I was throllied up six miles, all to get a 
shquint at that draf’. I knew ’twas a spring 
draf’ goin’ home, for there’s no rig’mint here¬ 
abouts, more’s the pity.” 

Praise the Virgin ! ” murmured Dinah Shadd. 
But Mulvaney did not hear. 

Whin I was about three-quarters av a mile 
off the rest-camp, powtherin’ along fit to burrst, 
I heard the noise av the men, an’, on my sowl, 
Sorr, I cud catch the voice av Peg Barney bei- 


42 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


lowin’ like a bison wid the belly-ache. You re* 
mimber Peg Barney that was in D Comp’ny—^a 
red, hairy scraun, wid a scar on his jaw ? Peg 
Barney that cleared out the Blue Lights’ Jubilee 
meeting wid the cook-room mop last year ? 

Thin I knew ut was a draf’ of the ould rig’- 
mint, an’ I was conshumed wid sorrow for the 
bhoy that was in charge. We was harrd scrapin’s 
at any time. Did I iver tell you how Horker 
Kelley went into clink nakid as Phoebus Apol¬ 
lonius, wid the shirts av the Cor’pril an’ file un- 
dher his arrum ? An’ he was a moild man 1 But 
I’m digreshin.’ ’Tis a shame both to the rig’, 
mints and the Arrmy sendin’ down little orf’cer 
bhoys wid a draf’ av strong men mad wid liquor 
an’ the chanst av gettin shut av India, an’ niver 
a punishment that's jit to he given right down 
an' away from cantonmints to the dock! ’Tis 
this nonsince. Whin I am servin’ my time, I’m 
undher the Articles av War, an’ can be whipped 
on the peg for thim. But whin I’ve served my 
time, I’m a Reserve man, an’ the Articles av War 
haven’t any hould on me. An orf’cer can't do 
anythin’ to a time-expired savin’ confinin’ him to 


THE BIG DRUNK DRAB'*. 


43 


barricks. ’Tis a wise rig’lation bekaze a time- 
expired does not have any barricks; beiii* on the 
move all the time. ’Tis a Solomon av a rigla- 
tion, is that. I wud like to be inthroduced to 
the man who secreted ut. ’Tis easier to get colts 
from a Kibbereen horse-fair into Galway than to 
take a bad draf’ over ten miles av country. 
vJonsiquintly that rig’lation—for fear that the 
men wud be hurt by the little orf cer bhoy. No 
matther. The nearer my throlly came to the 
rest-camp, the woilder was the shine, an’ the 
louder was the voice av Peg Barney. ’Tis good I 
am here,’ thinks I to myself, ^ For Peg alone is 
employmint to two or three.’ He bein’, I well 
knew, as copped as a dhrover. 

Faith, that rest-camp was a sight! The tent- 
ropes was all skew-nosed, an’ the pegs looked as 
dhrunk as the men—fifty av thim—the scourin’s, 
an’ rinsin’s, an’ Divil’s lavin’s av the Quid Rig’- 
mint. I tell you, Sorr, they were dhrunker than 
any men you’ve ever seen -in your mortial life. 
How does a draf’ get dhrunk ? How does a frog 
get fat ? They suk ut in through their shkins. 

There was Peg Barney sittin’ on the groun‘ 


44 SOLDIERS THREE. 

in his shirt—wan shoe off an’ wan shoe on— 
whackin’ a tent-peg over the head wid his boot, 
an’ singin’ fit to w^ake the dead. ’Twas no clane 
song that he sung, though. ’Twas the Divil’s 
Mass.” 

What’s that? ” I asked- 
‘‘ Whin a bad egg is shut av the Army, he 
sings the Divil’s Mass for a good riddance ; an’ 
that manes swearin’ at ivrything from the Com- 
mandher-in-Chief down to the Room Corp’ril, 
such as you niver in your days heard. Some 
men can swear so as to make green turf crack ! 
Have you iver heard the Curse in an Orange 
Lodge ? The Divil’s Mass is ten times worse, 
an’ Peg Barney was singin’ ut, whackin’ the 
tent-peg on the head wid his boot for each man 
that he cursed. A powerful big voice had Peg 
Barney, an’ a hard swearer he was whin sober. 
I stood forninst him, an’ ’twas not me oi alone 
that cud tell Peg was dhrunk as a coot. 

^ Good mornin’. Peg,’ I sez, whin he dhrew 
breath afther cursin’ the Adj’tint-Gen’ral; ^ I’ve 
put on my best coat to see you, Peg Barney,’ 
sez I. 


THE BIG DRUNK DRAF'* 45 

Thill take ut off again/ sez Peg Barney ^ 
tutherin’ away wid the boot; ^ take ut off an' 
dance, ye lousy civilian 1 * 

Wid that he begins cursin" ould Dhrum* 
shticks, being so full he clean misremimhers the 
Brigade-Major an’ the Judge Advokit Gen’rak 

• Do you not know me, Peg ? ’ sez I, though mt 
blood was hot in me wid being called a civilian.’’ 

A a’ him a decent married man ! ” wailed 
Dinah Shadd. 

^ 1 do not,’ sez Peg, ^ but dhrunk or sober I’ll 
tear ti e hide off your back wid a shovel whin 
l’v3 st( -pped singin’.’ 

^ Say you so, Peg Barney ? ’ sez I, ^ ’ Tis 
clear as mud you’ve forgotten me. I’ll assist 
your autobiography.’ Wid that I stretched Peg 
Barney, boot an’ all, an’ wint into the camp 
An awful sight ut was! 

^ Where’s the orf’cer in charge av the detach¬ 
ment?’ sez I to Scrub Greene—the manest 
little worm that ever walked. 

^ There’s no orf’cer, ye ould cook,’ sez Scrub ; 
we’re a bloomin’ Republic.” 

‘ Are you that ? ’ sez I; ^ thin I’m O’Cort 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


46 

nell tlie Dictator, an’ b) this you will larn to 
kape a civil tongue in your rag-box.* 

Wid that I stretched Scrub Greene an’ wint 
to the orf’cer’s tent. ’Twas a new little bhoy— 
not wan I’d iver seen before. He was sittin’ 
in his tent, purtendin’ not to ’ave ear av the 
racket. 

I saluted—but for the life av me I mint to 
shake hands whin I went in. ’ Twas the sword 
bangin’ on the tent-pole changed my will. 

^ Can’t I help, Sorr ? ’ sez I; ^ ’ tis a strong 
man’s job they’ve given you, an’ you’ll be wantin’ 
help by sundown.’ He was a bhoy wid bowils, 
that child, an’ a rale gintleman. 

^ Sit down,’ sez he. 

^ Not before my orf’cer/ sez I; an’ I tould 
him fwhat my service was. 

I’ve heard av you,’sez he. ^ You tuk the 
town av Lungtungpen nakid.’ 

^ Faith,’ thinks I, ‘ that’s Honor an’ Glory; 
for’twas Lift’nint Brazenose did that job. ^I’m 
wid ye, Sorr,’ sez I, ‘ if I’m av use. They shud 
niver ha’ sent you down wid the draf’. Savin’ your 
presince, Sorr,’ I sez, ‘ ’tis only Lift’nint Hacker^ 


THE BIG DRUNK DRAF . 47 

Bton in the Oiild Rig^mint can manage a Home 
draf’.’ 

I’ve niver had charge of men like this before, 
sez he, playin’ wid the pens on the table ; ^ an’ I 
see by the Rig’lations—’ 

Shut your oi to the Reg’lations, Sorr/ I sez, 
Hill the throoper’s into blue wather. By the 
Rig’lations you’ve got to tuck thim up for the 
night, or they’ll he runnin’ foul av my coohes an’ 
makiii’ a shiverarium half through the country. 
Can you trust your non-coms, Sorr ? ’ 

^ Yes,’ sez he. 

“ ‘ Good,’ sez I; ^ there’ll he throuble before 
the night. Are you marchin’, Sorr ? ’ 

^ To the next station,’ sez he. 

^ Better still,’ sez I; ^ there’ll be big throu¬ 
ble.’ 

‘ Can’t be too hard on a Home draf’, sez he; 
^ the great thing is to get thim in-ship.’ 

‘ Faith you’ve larnt the half av your lesson, 
Sorr,’ sez I, ^ but av you shtick to the Rig’lations 
you’ll niver get thim in-ship at all, at all. Or 
there won’t be a rag av kit betune thim whin you 
do.’ 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


48 

’Twas a dear little orf’cer bhoy, an’ by way 
av kapin’ his heart up, I tould him fwhat I saw 
wanst in a draf’ in Egypt.’’ 

What was that, Mulvaney ? ” said I. 

Sivin an’ fifty men sittin’ on the bank av a 
canal, laughin’ at a poor little squidgereen av an 
orf’cer that they’d made Avade into the slush an’ 
pitch the things out av the boats for their Lord 
High Mightinesses. That made me orf’cer bhoy 
woild wid indignation. 

^ Soft an’ aisy, Sorr,’ sez I; ^ you’ve niver 
had your draf’ in hand since you left canton- 
mints. Wait till the night, an’ your work Avill 
be ready to you. Wid your permission, Sorr, I 
will investigate the camp, an’ talk to my ould 
frinds: ’Tis no manner av use tliryin’ to shtop 
the divilmint now.^ 

Wid that I wint out into the camp an’ in thro- 
juced mysilf to ivry man sober enough to remim- 
ber me. I Avas some Avan in the ould days, an’ 
the bhoys Avas glad to see me—all excipt Peg 
Barney Avid a eA^e like a tomata five days in the 
bazar, an’ a nose to correspon.’ They come round 
me an’ shuk me, an’ I tould thim I was in privit ' 


THE BIG DRUNK DRAF'. 


49 


employ wid an income av me own, an’ a drrawin’ 
room fit to bate the Quane’s ; an’ wid me lies 
an’ me slitories an’ nonsinse gin’rally, I kept ’em 
q[uiet in wan way an’ another, knockin’ roun’ the 
camp. ’Twas had even thin whin I was the 
Angil av Peace. 

I talked to me ould non-coms —they was 
jober—an’ betune me an’ thim we wore the draf’ 
over into their tents at the proper time. The 
little orf’cer bhoy he comes round, decint an’ 
civil-spoken as might be. 

‘ Rough quarters, men,’ sez he, ‘ but you can’t 
look to be as comfortable as in barricks. We 
must make the best av things. I’ve shut my eyes 
to a dale av dog’s trick to-day, an’ now there 
must be no more av ut.’ 

^ No more we will. . Come an’ have a dlirink, 
me son,’ sez Peg Barney, staggerin’ where he 
i^tud. Me little orf’cer bhoy kep’ his timper. 

You’re a sulky swine, you are,’ sez Peg 
Barney, an’ at that the men in the tent began to 
laugh. 

I tould you me orf’cer bhoy had bowils. He 
cut Peg Barney as near as might be on the oi 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


50 

that I’d squshed whin we first met. Peg wint 
spinnin’ acrost the tent. 

^ Peg him out, Son*/ sez I, in a whishper. 

* Peg I» sez me orf’cer bhoy, up loud, 

just as if ’twas battalion-p’rade an’ he pickin’ his 
wurrds from the Sargint. 

^^The non-coms tuk Peg Barney—a howlin’ 
handful he was—an’ in three minuts he was 
pegged out—chin down, tight-dhrawn—on his 
stummick, a peg to each arm an’ leg, swearin’ 
fit to turn a naygur white. 

I tuk a peg an’ jammed ut into his ugly jaw. 
—^ Bite on that, Peg Barney,’ I sez; ^ the night 
is settin’ frosty, an’ you’ll be wantin’ divarsion 
before the mornin’. But for the Rig’lations 
you’d be bitin’ on a bullet now at the thriangles, 
Peg Barney,’ sez I. 

“ AU the draf’ was out av their tents watchin’ 
Barney bein pegged. 

^ ’Tis agin the Rig’lations ! He strook him ! ’ 
screeches out Scrub Greene, who was always a 
lawyer; an’ some of the men tuk up the shoutin’. 

^ Peg out that man 1 ’ sez my orf’cer bhoy, 
niver losin’ his timper; an’ the non-coms wint in 


THE BIG DRUNK DRAPV, 5 1 

and pegged out Scrub Greene by the side av Peg 
Barney. 

I cud see that the draf’ was cornin’ roun’. 
The men stud not knowin’ fwhat to do. 

^ Get to your tents 1 ’ sez me orf’cer bhoy. 
^ Sargint, put a sin try over these two men.’ 

The men wint back into the tents like jackals, 
an’ the rest av the night there was no noise at all 
excipt the stip av the sintry over the two, an’ 
Scrub Greene blubberin’ like a child. ’Twas a 
chilly night, an’ faith, ut sobered Peg Barney. 

Just before Revelly, my orf’cer bhoy comes 
out an’ sez : ‘ Loose those men an’ send thim to 
their tents 1 ’ Scrub Greene wint away widout a 
word, but Peg Barney, stiff wid the cowld, stud 
like a sheep, thryin’ to make his orf’cer under- 
sthand he was sorry for playin’ the goat. 

There was no tucker in the draf’ whin ut fell 
in for the march, an’ divil a wurrd about ^ illegal¬ 
ity ’ cud I hear. 

I wint to the ould Color Sargint and I sez: 
—‘ Let me die in glory,’ sez I. I’ve seen a man 
this day ! ’ 

^ A man he is,’ sez ould Hother ; ^ the draf’s 


52 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


as sick as a herrin’ . They’ll all go down to the 
sea like lambs. That bhoy has the bowils av a 
cantonmint av Gin’rals.’ 

‘ Amin/ sez I, ^ an’ good luck go wid him, 
wheriver he be, by land or by sea. Let me know 
how the diaf’ gets clear.’ 

An’ do you know how they did f That 
bhoy, so I was tould by letter from Bombay, 
bullydamned ’em down to the dock, till they 
cudn’t call their sowls their own. From the time 
they left me oi till they was ’tween decks, not wan 
av thim was more than dacintly dhrunk. An’, 
by the Holy Articles av War, whin they wint 
aboard they cheered him till they cudn’t spake, 
an’ that, mark you, has not come about wid a 
draf’ in the mim’ry av livin’ man ! You look to 
that little orf’cer bhoy. He has bowilso ’Tis not 
ivry child that wud chuck the Rig’lations to Flan¬ 
ders an’ stretch Peg Barney on a wink from a 
hrokin an’ dilapidated ould carkiss like mesilf. 
I’d be proud to serve—” 

Terence, you’re a civilian,” said Dinah Shadd 
warningly. 

So I am—so I am. Is ut likew I wed for- 


THE BIG DRUNK DRAF\ 


53 


get ut^ But he was a gran’ bhoy all the same, 
an’ I’m only a mudtipper wid a hod on my 
shoulthers. The whisky’s in the heel av your 
hand, Sorr. Wid your good lave we’ll dhrink 
to the Ould Big’mint—three fingers—standin’ 
up! 

And we drank. 


54 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


THE SOLID MULDOON. 


Did ye see John Malone, wid his shinin’, brand-new hat ? 

Did ye see how he walked like a grand aristocrat? 

There was flags an’ banners wavin’ high, an’ dhress and shtyl® 
were shown, 

But the best av’ all the company was Misther John Malone. 

John Malone. 

This befell in the old days and, as my friend 
Private Mulvaney was specially careful to make 
clear, the Unregenerate. 

There had been a royal dog-fight in the ravine 
at the back of the rifle-bntts, between Learoyd’s 
Jock and Ortheris’s Blue Bot —both mongrel 
Rampnr hounds, chiefly ribs and teeth. It lasted 
for twenty happy, howling minutes, and then 
Blue Hot collapsed and Ortheris paid Learoyd 
three rupees, and we were all very thirsty. A 
dog-fight is a most heating entertainment, quite 
apart from the shouting, because Rampurs fight 
over a couple of acres of ground. Later, when 



THE SOLID MULDOON. 


55 

the sound of belt-badges clinking against the 
necks of beer-bottles had died away, conversa¬ 
tion drifted from dog to man-fights of all kinds. 
Humans resemble red-deer in some respects. 
Any talk of fighting seems to wake up a sort of 
imp in their breasts, and they bell one to the 
other, exactly like challenging bucks. This is 
noticeable even in men who consider themselves 
superior to Privates of the Line : it shows the 
Refining Influence of Civilization and the March 
of Progress. 

Tale provoked tale, and each tale more beer. 
Even dreamy Learoyd’s eyes began to brighten, 
and he unburdened himself of a long history in 
which a trip to Malham Cove, a girl at Pateley 
^ himself and a pair of clogs were 

mixed in drawling tangle. 

An’ so Ah coot^s yead oppen from t’ chin 
to t’hair, an’ he was abed for t’ matter o’ a 
month,” concluded Learoyd pensively. 

Mulvaney came out of a reverie—he was ly¬ 
ing down—and flourished his heels in the air. 

You’re a man, Learoyd,” said he critically, 
** but you’ve only fought wid men, an’ that’s an 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


56 

ivry-day expayrience ; but I’ve stud up to a gbostj 
an’ that was not an ivry-day expayrience.” 

No ? ” said Ortheris, throwing a cork at 
him. You git up an’ address the ’ouse—you 
an’ yer expayriences. Is it a bigger one nor 
usual! ” 

“ ’Twas the livin’ trut’ 1 ” answered Mulvaney, 
stretching out a huge arm and catching Ortheris 
by the collar. Now where are ye, me son ? 
Will ye take the wurrud av the Lorrd out av my 
mouth another time ? ” He shook him to em- 
ph asize the question. 

No, somethin’ else, though,” said Ortheris, 
making a dash at Mulvaney’s pipe, capturing it 
and holding it at arm’s length; ^^I’ll chuck it 
acrost the ditch if you don’t let me go 1 ” 

You maraudin’ hathen ! ’Tis the only cutty 
I iver loved. Handle her tinder or I’ll chuck 
you across the nullah. If that poipe was bruck 
—Ah ! Give her back to me, Sor 1 ” 

Ortheris had passed the treasure to my hande 
It was an absolutely perfect clay, as shiny as the 
black ball at Pool. I took it reverently, but I 
was firm. 


THE SOLID MULDOON. 57 

Will you tell us about the ghost-fight if I 
do? ” I said. 

Is ut the shtory that’s troublin’ you ? Ay 
course I will. I mint to all along. I was only 
gettin’ at ut my own way, as Popp Doggie said 
whin they found him thrying to ram a cartridge 
down the muzzle. Orth’ris, fall away ! ” 

He released the little Londoner, took back his 
pipe, filled it, and his eyes twinkled. He has 
the most eloquent eyes of any one that I know. 

Did I iver tell you,” he began, that I was 
once the divil av a man? ” 

“ You did,” said Learoyd with a childish 
gravity that made Ortheris yell with laughter, 
for Mulvaney was always impressing upon us his 
merits in the old days. 

Did I iver tell you,’’ Mulvaney continued 
calmly, that I was wanst more av a divil than 
I am now ? ” 

Mer—ria! You don’t mean it?” said 

Ortheris. 

Whin I was a Corp’ril—I was rejuced afther 
wards—but, as I say, whm I was Corp’ril, I wai 
a divil of a man.” 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


58 

He was silent for nearly a minute, while his 
mind rummaged among old memories and his eye 
glowed. He bit upon the pipe-stem and charged 
into his tale. 

^^Eyah! They was great times. I^m ould 
now; me hide’s wore off in patches; sinthrygo 
has disconceited me, an’ I’m a married man tu. 
But I’ve had my day, I’ve had my day, an’ 
nothin’ can take away the taste av that! Oh 
my time past, whin I put me fut through ivry 
livin’ wan av the Tin Commandmints between 
Revelly and Lights Out, blew the froth off* a 
pewter, wiped me mustache wid the back av me 
hand, an’ slept on ut all as quiet as a little child! 
But ut’s over—ut’s over, an’ ’twill niver come 
back to me; not though I prayed for a week av 
Sundays. Was there any wan in the Ould Big’- 
mint to touch Corp’ril Terence Mulvaney whin 
that same was turned out for sedukshin ? I 
niver met him. Ivry woman that was not a witch 
was worth the runnin’ afther in those days, an’ 
ivry man was my dearest frind or—I had stripped 
to him an’ we knew which was the betther av 
the tu. 


THE SOLID MULDOON. 


59 

Whin I was Corp’ril I wud not ha^ changed 
wid the Colonel—no, nor yet the Commandher-in- 
Chief. I wud be a Sargint. There was nothin' 
I wud not be! Mother av Hivin, look at me 1 
Fwhat am I now f But no matther! I must get 
to the other ghosts—not the wans in my ould head. 

‘‘We was quartered in a big cantonmint—’tis 
no mauner av use namin’ names, for ut might 
give the barricks disrepitation—an’ I was the Im- 
peror av the Earth to my own mind, an’ wan or 
tu women thought the same. Small blame to 
thim. Afther we had lain there a year, Bragin, 
the Color Sargint av E Comp’ny, wint an’ took a 
wife that was lady’s maid to some big lady in the 
Station. She’s dead now is Annie Bragin—died 
in child-bed at Kirpa Tal, or ut may ha’ been 
Almorah—seven—nine years gone, an Bragin he 
married agin. But she was a pretty woman whin 
Bragin inthrojuced her to cantonmint society. 
She had eyes like the brown av a buttherfly’s wing 
whin the sun catches ut, an’ a waist no thicker 
than my arm, an’ a little sof’ button uv a 
mouth I wud ha’ gone through all Asia bristlin’ 
wid hay’nits to get the kiss av. An’ her haii 


6o 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


was as long as the tail av the Coloners charger 
—forgive me mintionin’ that blunderin’ baste in 
the same mouthful with Annie Bragin—but ’twas 
all shpun gold, an’ time was whin a lock av ut 
was more than di’monds to me. There was niver 
pretty woman yet, an’ I’ve had thruck wid a few, 
cud open the door to Annie Bragin. 

’Twas in the Carth’lic Chapel I saw her first, 
me oi rolling round as usual to see fwhat was to 
be seen. ^ You’re too good for Bragin, my love,’ 
thinks I to mesilf, ‘ but that’s a mistake I can put 
straight, or my name is not Terence Mulvaney.’ 

Now take my wurrd for ut, you Orth’ris 
there an’ Learoyd, an kape out av the Married 
Quarters—as I did not. No good iver comes av 
ut, an’ there’s always the chance av your bein’ 
found wid your face in the dirt, a long picket in 
the back av your head, an’ your hands playing 
the fifes on the tread av another man’s doorstep. 
’Twas so we found O’Hara, he that Rafferty 
killed six years gone, when he wint to his death 
wid his hair oiled, whistlin’ Larry O^Lourke be* 
tune his teeth. Kape out av the Married Quai* 
ters, I say, as I did not. ’Tis onwholesim, ’tis 


THE vSOLID MULDOON. 6l 

dangerous, an’ ’tis iverything else that’s bad, but 
—0 my sowl, ’tis swate while ut lasts! 

I was always hangin’ about there whin I was 
off duty an’ Bragin wasn’t, but niver a sweet 
word beyon’ ordinal*’ did I get from Annie 
Bragin* ‘ ’Tis the pervarsity av the sect,’ sez I 
to mesilf, an’ gave my cap another cock on my 
head an’ straightened my back—’twas the back 
av a Dhrum Major in those days—an’ wint off as 
tho’ I did not care, wid all the women in the 
Married Quarters laughin’. I was pershuaded— 
most bhoys are I’m thinkin’—that no woman born 
av woman cud stand against me av I hild up me 
little finger. I had reason for thinkin’ that way 
—till I met Annie Bragin. 

Time an’ again whin I was blandherin’ 
in the dusk a man wud go past me as quiet as a 
cat. ^That’s quare,’ thinks I, ^for I am, or I 
should be, the only man in these parts. Now 
what divilment can Annie be up to ? ’ Thin I 
called myself a blayguard for thinkin’ such 
things; but I thought thim all the same. An’ 
that, mark you, is the way av a man. 

Wan evenin’ I said:—^ Mrs. Bragin, manin’ 


62 


SOLDIERS THREE, 


no disrespect to you, who is that Corp’ril man’—I 
iiad seen the stripes though I cud niver get sight 
av his face —^ who is that Corp’ril man that 
comes in always whin I’m goin’ away ? ’ 

‘‘ ‘ Mother av God! ’ sez she, turnin’ as white 
as my belt; ^ have you seen him too ? ’ 

‘ Seen him ! ’ sez I; ^ av coorse I have. Did 
ye want me not to see him, for ’—we were standin’ 
in the dhark, outside the veranda av Bragin’s 
quarters—^ you’d betther tell me to shut me eyes. 
Onless I’m mistaken, he’s come now.’ 

An’, sure enough, the Corp’ril man was 
walkin’ to us, hangin’ his head down as though 
he was ashamed av himsilf. 

^‘‘Good-night, Mrs. Bragin,' sez I, very cool; 
‘ ’tis not for me to interfere wid your a-moors ; 
but you might manage these things wid more 
dacincy. I’m off to canteen,’ I sez. 

“ I turned on my heel an’ wint away, swearin’ 
I wud give that man a dhressin’ that wud shtop 
him messin’ about the Married Quarters for a 
month an’ a week. I had not tuk ten paces be- 
fore Annie Bragin was hangin’ on to my arm, 
an’ I cud feel that she was shakin’ all over. 


THE SOLID MULDOON. 63 

• Stay wid me. Mister Mulvaney/ sez she; 
•you’re flesh an’ blood, at the least—are ye 
not ?’ 

• I’m all that,’ sez I, an’ my anger wint away 
in a flash. • Will I want to he asked twice, 
Annie ? ’ 

Wid that I slipped my arm round her waist, 
for, begad, I fancied she had surrindered at dis¬ 
cretion, an’ the honors av war were mine. 

• Fwhat nonsinse is this ? ’ sez she, dhrawin’ 
herself up on the tips av her dear little toes. 
• Wid the mother’s milk not dhry on your impi- 
dent mouth ? Let go ! ’ she sez. 

^ Did ye not say just now that I was flesh 
and blood ? ’ sez I. ^ I have not changed since,’ 
I sez; an’ I kep’ my arm where ut was. 

•^Your arms to yoursilf! ’ sez she, an’ her 
eyes sparkild. 

‘ Sure, ’tis only human nature,’ sez I; an’ I 
kep’ my arm where ut was. 

^ Nature or no nature,’ sez she, ^ you take 
your arm away or I’ll tell Bragin, an’ he’ll alter 
the nature av your head Fwhat d’you take me 
for ? ’ she sez. 


64 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


^ A woman/ sez I j ‘ the prettiest in barricks.‘ 

^ A sez she; ^ the straightest in canton* 

mints 1 ’ 

Wid that I dropped my arm, fell back tu 
paces, an’ saluted, for I saw that she mint fwhat 
she said.” 

^^Then you know something that some men 
would give a good deal to be certain of. How 
could you tell ? ” I demanded in the interests of 
Science. 

^ Watch the hand,’ said Mulvaney ; ^av she 
shuts her hand tight, thumb down over the 
knuckle, take up your hat an’ go. You’ll only 
make a fool av yoursilf av you shtay. But av 
the hand lies opin on the lap, or av you see her 
thryin’ to shut ut, an’ she can’t,—go on ! She’s 
not past reasonin’ wid.’ 

Well, as I was sayin’, I fell back, saluted, 
an’ was goin’ away. 

^ Shtay wid me/ she sez. ^ Look ! He’s 
cornin’ again.’ 

She pointed to the veranda, an’ by the Height 
av Impart’nil!ce, the Corp’ril man was cornin’ 
out av Bragin’s quarters. 


THE SOLID MULDOON. 6 $ 

** ^ He’s done that these five evenin’s past/ sez 
Annie Bragin. ^ Oh, fwhat will I do! ’ 

^ He’ll not do ut again/ sez I, for I was 
fightin’ mad. 

Rape away from a man that has been a thrifle 
crossed in love till the fever’s died down. He 
rages like a brute beast. 

I wint up to the man in the veranda, manin’, 
as sure as I sit, to knock the Hfe out av him. 
He slipped into the open, ‘ Fwhat are you doin’ 
philanderin’ about here, ye scum av the gutter?’ 
sez I polite, to give him his warnin’, for I wanted 
him ready. 

He niver lifted his head, but sez, all mournful 
an’ melancolius, as if he thought I wud be sorry 
for him : ^ I can’t find her,’ sez he. 

^ My troth,’ sez I, ^ you’ve lived too long— 
you an’ your seekin’s an’ findin’s in a dacint 
married woman’s quarters ! Hould up your head, 
ye frozen thief av Genesis,’ sez I, ^ an’ you’ll find 
all you want an’ more ! ’ 

But he never hild up, an’ I let go from the 
shoulder to where the hair is short over the eye¬ 
brows. 

5 


66 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


^ That’ll do your business/ sez I, but it nearly 
did mine instid. I put my body-weight behind 
the blow, but I hit nothing at all, an’ near put 
my shoulther out. The Corp’ril man was not 
there, an’ Annie Bragin, who had been watchin’ 
from the veranda, throws up her heels, an’ carries 
on like a cock wdiin his neck’s wrung by the 
dhrummer-bhoy. I wint back to her, for a livin’ 
woman, an’ a woman like Annie Bragin, is more 
than a p’rade-groun’ full av ghosts. I’d never 
seen a woman faint before, an’ I stud like a shtuck 
calf, askin’ her whether she was dead, an prayin^ 
her for the love av me, an’ the love av her hus* 
band, an’ the love av the Virgin, to opin her 
blessed eyes again, an’ callin’ mesilf all the names 
undher the canopy av Hivin for plaguin’ her wid 
my miserable a-rtioors whin I ought to ha’ stud 
betune her an’ this Corp’ril man that had lost the 
number av his mess. 

I misremimber f what nonsinse I said, but I 
w^as not so far gone that I cud not hear a fut on 
the dirt outside. ’Twas Bragin cornin’ in, an’ by 
the same token Annie was cornin’ to. I jumped 
to the far end av the veranda an’ looked as if butter 


THE SOLID MULDOON. 67 

wudn’t melt in my mouthc But Mrs. Quinn, the 
Quarter Master’s wife that was, had tould Bragin 
about my hangin’ round Annie. 

^ I’m not pleased wid you, Mulvaney,” sez 
Bragin, unbucklin’ his sword, for he had been on 
duty. 

‘ That’s bad liearinY I sez, an’ I knew that 
the pickets were dhriven in. ^ What for, Sar- 
gint ? ’ sez I. 

“ ^ Come outside,’ sez he, ^ an’ I’ll show you 
why.’ 

^ I’m willin’/ I sez ; ‘ but my stripes are none 
so ould that I can afford to lose thim. Tell me 
now, who do I go out wid ? ’ sez I. 

He was a quick man an’ a just, an’ saw fwhat 
1 wud be afther. ^ Wid Mrs. Bragin’s husband,’ 
sez he. He might ha’ known by me askin’ that 
favor that I had done him no wrong. 

We wint to the back av the arsenal an’ I 
stripped to him, an’ for ten minutes ’twas all I 
cud do to prevent him killin’ himself against my 
fistes. He was mad as a dumb dog—just froth¬ 
ing wid rage ; but he had no chanst wid me in 
reach, or learnin’, or anything else. 


68 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


^ Will ye hear reason ? ’ sez I, whin his first 
wind was runnin’ out. 

^ Not whoile I can see/ sez he. Wid that 1 
gave him both, one after the other, smash through 
the low gyard that he’d been taught whin he was 
a boy, an’ the eyebrow shut down on the cheek¬ 
bone like the wing av a sick crow. 

‘ Will you hear reason now, ye brave man ? 
sez lo 

^ Not whoile I can speak,’ sez he, staggerin’ 
up blind as a stump. I was loath to do ut, but I 
wint round an’ swung into the jaw side-on an' 
shifted ut a half pace to the lef’. 

^ Will ye hear reason now ? ’ sez I; ^ I can’t 
keep my timper much longer, an’ ’tis like I will 
hurt you.’ 

^ Not whoile I can stand,’ he mumbles out av 
one corner av his moutho So I closed an’ threw 
him—blind, dumb, an’ sick, an’ jammed the jaw 
straight. 

‘ You’re an ould fool. Mister Bragin,’ sez I, 
You’re a young thief,’ sez he, ^ an’you’ve 
bruk my heart, you an’ Annie Bragin betune you! ’ 

Thin he began cryin’ like a child as he lay. 


THE SOLID MULDOON. 09 

I was sorry as I had niver been before. ’Tis an 
awful thing to see a strong man cry. 

^ III swear on the Cross ! ’ sez I. 

^ I care for none av your oaths/ sez he. 

^ Come back to your quarters/ sez I, ‘ an’ if 
you don’t believe the livin’, begad, you shall listen 
to the dead,’ I sez. 

I hoisted him an’ tuk him back to his quarters. 
^ Mrs. Bragin’, sez I, ^ here’s a man that you can 
cure quicker than me.’ 

You’ve shamed me before my wife/ he 
whimpers. 

^ Have I so ? ’ sez I. ‘ By the look on Mrs. 
Bragin’s face I think I’m for a dhressin’-down 
worse than I gave you.’ 

An’ I was! Annie Bragin was woild wid 
indignation. There was not a name that a dacint 
woman cud use that was not given my way. I’ve 
had my Colonel walk roun’ me like a cooper roun’ 
a cask for fifteen minuts in Ordly Room, bekaze 
I wint into the Corner Shop an unstrapped lew- 
natic, but all that I iver tuk from his rasp av a 
tongue was ginger-pop to fwhat Annie tould ma 
An’ that, mark you, is the way av a woman. 


70 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


Whin ut was done for want av breath, an 
Annie was bendin’ over her husband, I sez; 
^ ’Tis all thrue, an’ I’m a blayguard an’ you’re an 
honest woman; but will you tell him of wan 
service that I did you ? ’ 

As I finished speakin’ the Corp’ril man came 
up to the veranda, an’ Annie Bragin shquealed. 
The moon was up, an’ we cud see his face. 

^ I can’t find her,’ sez the Corp’ril man, an’ 
wint out like the puff av a candle. 

^ Saints stand betune us an’ evil ! ’ sez 
Bragin, crossin’ himself; ^ that’s Flahy av the 
Tyrone Rig’mint.’ 

^ Who was he ? ’ I sez, ^ for he has given me 
a dale av fightin’ this day.’ 

Bragin tould us that Flahy was a Corp’ril 
who lost his wife av cholera in those quarters 
three years gone, an’ wint mad, an’ walked afther 
they buried him, huntin’ for her. 

^ Well,’ sez I to Bragin, ‘ he’s been hookin’ 
out av Purgathory to kape company wid Mrs. 
Bragin ivry evenin’ for the last fortnight. You 
may tell Mrs. Quinn, wid my love, for I know 
that she’s been talkin’ to you an’ you’ve been 


THE SOLID MULDOON. 71 

Kstenin’, that she ought to ondherstand the differ 
’twixt a man an a ghost. She’s had three hus- 
bands/ sez I, ^ an’ you^ve got a wife too good for 
you. Instid av which you lave her to be bod- 
dered by ghosts an’—an’ all manner av evil 
spiruts. I’ll niver go talkin’ in the way av po¬ 
liteness to a man’s wife again. Good-night to 
you both/ sez I ; an^ wid that I wint away, 
havin^ fought wid woman, man and Divil all in 
the heart av an hour. By the same token I gave 
Father Victor wan rupee to say a mass for Flahy’s 
soul, me havin’ discommoded him by shticking 
my fist into his systim.” 

Your ideas of politeness seem rather large, 
Mulvaney,” I said. 

That’s as you look at ut,” said Mulvaney 
calmly; Annie Bragin niver cared for me. 
For all that, I did not want to leave anything 
behin’ me that Bragin could take hould av to be 
angry wid her about—whin an honust wurrd cud 
ha’ cleared all up. There’s nothing like opin- 
speakin’. Orth’ris, ye scutt, let me put me oi to 
that bottle, for my throat’s as dhry as whin T 


72 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


thought I wud get a kiss from Annie Bragin' 
An’ that’s fourteen years gone ! Eyah ! Cork’s 
own city an’ the blue sky above ut—an’ th« 
times that was—the times that was I ” 


WITH THE MAIN GUARD. 


73 


WITH THE MAIN GUARD. 


Der jungere Uhlanen 
Sit round mit open moutk 
While Breitmann tell dem stdories 
Of fightin’ in the South ; 

Und gif dem moral lessons, 

How before der battle pops, 

Take a little prayer to Himmel 
Und a goot long drink of Schnapps. 

Hans Breitmann's Ballads, 

Mary, Mother av Mercy, fwliat the divil 
possist us to take an’ kape this melancolious 
coimthry? Answer me that, Sorr.’^ 

It was Mulvaney who was speaking. The 
hour was one o’clock of a stifling hot June night, 
and the place was the main gate of Fort Amara, 
most desolate and least desirable of all fortresses 
in India. What I was doing there at that hour 
is a question which only concerns McGrath the 
Sergeant of the Guard, and the men on the gate. 

Slape,” said Mulvaney, is a shuparfluous 


74 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


necessity. This gyard’ll shtay lively till re- 
lieved.” He himself was stripped to the waist; 
Learoyd on the next bedstead was dripping from 
the skinful of water which Ortheris, arrayed onlj 
in white trousers, had just sluiced over his 
shoulders; and a fourth private was muttering 
uneasily as he dozed open-mouthed in the glare 
of the great guard-lantern. The heat under the 
bricked archway was terrifying. 

The worrst night that iver I remimber. 
Eyah ! Is all Hell loose this tide ? said Mul- 
vaney, A puff of burning wind lashed through 
the wicket-gate like a wave of the sea, and Or- 
theris swore. 

Are ye more heasy, Jock ? ’’ he said to Lea¬ 
royd. Put yer ’ead between your legs. ItJ) 
go orf in a minute.’’ 

Ah don’t care. Ah would not care, but ma 
heart is playin’ tivvy-tivvy on ma ribs. Let me 
die! Oh, leave me die ! ” groaned the huge 
Yorkshireman, who was feeling the heat acutely, 
being of fleshly build. 

The sleeper under the lantern roused for a 
moment and raised himself on his elbow.—Die 


WITH MAIN GUARD. 75 

and be damned then ! ’’ he said. i’m damned 
and I can’t die! ” 

Who’s that ? ” I whispered, for the voice 
was new to me. 

Gentleman born,” said Mulvaney; ‘‘ Cor'* 
p’ril wan year, Sargint nex’. Red-hot on Ins 
C’mission, but dhrinks like a fish. He’ll be gone 
before the cowld weather’s here. So 1 ” 

He slipped his boot, and with the naked toe 
just touched the trigger of his Martini. Or- 
theris misunderstood the movement, and the next 
instant the Irishman’s rifle was dashed aside, while 
Ortheris stood before him, his eyes blazing with 
reproof. 

^^You!” said Ortheris. My Gawd, you! 
If it was you, wot would we do ? ” 

Rape quiet, little man,” said Mulvaney, put¬ 
ting him aside, but very gently ; ’tis not me, 
nor will ut be me whoile Dinah Shadd’s here. 1 
was but showin’ something.” 

Learoyd, bowed on his bedstead, groaned, and 
the gentleman ranker sighed in his sleep. Or¬ 
theris took Mulvaney’s tendered pouch,, and we 
three smoked gravely for a space while the dust 


76 SOLDIERS THREE. 

devils danced on the glacis and scoured the rei 
hot plain without. 

Pop ? ’’ said Ortheris, wiping his forehead. 

Don’t tantalize wid talkin’ av dhrink, or I’ll 
shtufl: you into your own breech-block an’—fire 
you off ! ” grunted Mulvaney. 

Ortheris chuckled, and from a niche in the 
verandah produced six bottles of gingerade. 

Where did ye get ut, ye Machiavel ? ” said 
Mulvaney. ’Tis no bazar pop.” 

’Ow do Hi know wot the Orf’cers drink ? ” 
answered Ortheris. Arst the mess-man.” 

Ye’ll have a Disthrict Coort-martial settin’ 
on ye yet, me son,” said Mulvaney, but ”— 
he opened a bottle—I will not report ye this 
time. Fwhat’s in the mess-kid is mint for the 
belly, as they say, specially whin that mate is 
dhrink. Here’s luck ! A bloody war or a—no, 
we’ve got the sickly season. War, thin ! ”—he 
waved the innocent pop ” to the four quarters 
of Heaven. Bloody war! North, East, South, 

an’ West! Jock, ye quakin’ hayrick, come an’ 
dhrink.” 

But Learoyd, haH mad with the fear of death 


WITH THE MAIN GUARD. 77 

presaged in the swelling veins of his neck, was 
imploring his Maker to strike him dead, and fight¬ 
ing for more air between his prayers. A second 
time Ortheris drenched the quivering body with 
water, and the giant revived. 

An’ Ah divn’t see thot a mon is i’ fettle for 
gooin’ on to live; an’ Ah divn’t see thot there is 
owt for t’ livin’ for. Hear now, lads ! Ah’m 
tired—tired. There’s nobbut watter i’ ma bones. 
Let me die ! ” 

The hollow of the arch gave back Learoyd’s 
broken whisper in a bass boom. Mulvaney 
looked at me hopelessly, but I remembered how 
the madness of despair had once fallen upon Or¬ 
theris, that weary, weary afternoon on the banks 
of the Khemi River, and how it had been exor¬ 
cised by the skilful magician Mulvaney. 

Talk, Terence! ” I said, or we shall have 
Learoyd slinging loose, and he’ll be worse than Or¬ 
theris was. Talk ! He’ll answer to your voice.” 

Almost before Otheris had deftly thrown all the 
rifles of the Guard on Mulvaney’s bedstead, the 
Irishman’s voice was uplifted as that of one in the 
middle of a story, and turning to me, he said,— 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


78 

In barricks or out of it as you say, Sorr, an 
Oirish rig’mint is the divil an’ more. ’Tis only fit 
for a young man wid eddicated fisteses. Oh the 
crame av disruption is an Oirish rig’mint, an’ rip- 
pin’, tearin’, ragin’ scattherers in the field av war ! 
My first rig’mint was Oirish—Faynians an’ rebils 
to the heart av their marrow was they, an’ so they 
fought for the Widdy betther than most, bein’ con- 
trairy—Oirish. They was the Black Tyrone. 
You’ve heard av thim, Sorr? ” 

Heard of them! I knew the Black Tyrone for 
the choicest collection of unmitigated blackguards, 
dog-stealers, robbers of hen-roosts, assaulters of 
innocent citizens, and recklessly daring heroes in 
the Army List. Half Europe and half Asia has 
had cause to know the Black Tyrone—good luck 
be with their tattered Colors as Glory has ever 
been! 

They was hot pickils an’ ginger ! I cut a 
man’s head tu deep wid my belt in the days av my 
youth, an’, afther some circumstances which I will 
oblitherate, I came to the Quid Rig’mint, bearin’ 
the character av a man wid hands an’ feet. But, 
as I was goin’ to tell you, I fell acrost the Black 


WITH THE MAIN GUARD. 7.^ 

Tyrone agin wan day whin we wanted tliim power 
ful bad. Orth’ris, me son, fwhat was the name av 
that place where they sint wan company av us an’ 
wan av the Tyrone roun’ an hill a’ down again, all 
for to tache the Paythans something they’d niver 
learned before ? Afther Ghuzni ’twas.” 

Don’t know what the bloomin’ Paythans 
called it. We called it Silver’s Theayter. You 
know that, sure ! ” 

Silver’s Theater—so t’was. A gut betune two 
hills, as black as a bucket, an’ as ’thin as a gurl’s 
waist. There was over-many Paythans for our 
convaynience in the gut, an’ begad they called 
thimselves a Reserve—bein’ impident by natur’! 
Our Scotchies an’ lashins av Gurkys was poundin’ 
into some Paythan rig’ments, I think ’twas. 
Scotchies an’ Gurkys are twins bekaze they’re so 
onlike, an’ they get dhrunk together whin God 
plases. Well, as I was sayin’, they sint wan com- 
p’ny av the Ould an’ wan av the Tyrone to double 
up the hill an’ clane out the Paythan Reserve. 
Orf’cers was scar in thim days, fwhat wid dysintry 
an not takin’ care av thimselves, an’ we was sint 
out wid only wan orf’cer for the company ; but he 


8o SOLDIERS THREE. 

was a Man that had his feet beneath him, an’ all 
his teeth in their sockuts.” 

Who was he ? ” I asked. 

Captain O’Neil—Old Crook—Cruik-na-bul- 
leen—him that I tould ye that tale av whin he 
was in Burma. Hah ! He was a Man. The 
Tyrone tuk a little orf’cer bhoy, but divil a bit 
was he in command, as I’ll dimonstrate presintly. 
We an’ they came over the brow av the hill, wan 
on each side av the gut, an’ there was that onda- 
cint Reserve waitin’ down below like rats in a 
pit. 

^^^Howld on, men,’ sez Crook, who tuk a 
mother’s care av us always. ^ Rowl some rocks 
on thim by way av visitin’-kyards.’ We hadn’t 
rowled more than twinty bowlders, an’ the Pay- 
thans was beginnin’ to swear tremenjus, whin the 
little -orf’cer bhoy av the Tyrone shqueaks out 
acrost the valley :—^ Fwhat the de\dl an’ all are 
you doin’, shpoilin’ the fun for my men ? Do ye 
not see they’ll stand ? ’ 

^ Faith, that’s a rare pluckt wan 1 ’ sez Crook. 
^ Niver mind the rocks, men. Come along down 
an’ take tay wid thim 1 ’ 


WITH THE MAIN GUARD. 8l 

^ There’s damned little sugar in ut! sez my 
rear-rank man ; but Crook heard. 

^ Have ye not all got spoons ? ’ he sez, laughin/ 
an’ down we wint as fast as we cud. Learoyd 
bein’ sick at the Base, he, av coorse, was not 
there.” 

Thot’s a lie! ” said Learoyd, dragging his 
bedstead nearer. Ah gotten thot theer, an’ you 
knaw it, Mulvaney.” He threw up his arms, and 
from the right arm-pit ran, diagonally through 
the fell of his chest, a thin white line terminating 
near the fourth left rib. 

My mind’s goin’,” said Mulvaney, the un¬ 
abashed. Ye were there. Fwhat I was tliinkin’ 
of 1 ’Twas another man, av coorse. Well, 
you’ll remimber thin, Jock, how we an’ the Ty¬ 
rone met wid a bang at the bottom an’ got jammed 
past all movin’ among the Paythans,” 

Ow ! It wos a tight ’ole. Hi was squeeged 
till I thought I’d bloomin’ well bust,” said Or- 
theris, rubbing his stomach meditatively. 

’Twas no place for a little man, but wan 
little man ”—Mulvaney put his hand on Ortheris’s 

shoulder—saved the life av me. There we 
€> 


82 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


shtuck, for divil a bit did the Paythans flinch, an'" 
divil a bit dare we ; our business bein’ to clear ’em 
out. An’ the most exthryordinar’ thing av all 
was that we an’ they just rushed into each other’s 
arrums, an’ there was no firing for a long time. 
Nothin’ but knife an’ bay’iiit when we cud get 
our hands free: that was not often. We was 
breast on to thim, an’ the Tyrone was yelpin’ 
behind av us in a way I didn’t see the lean av 
at first. But I knew later, an’ so did the Pay¬ 
thans. 

^ Knee to knee! ’ sings out Crook, wid a 
laugh whin the rush av our cornin’ into the 
gut shtopped, an’ he was huggin’ a hairy great 
Paythan, neither bein’ able to do anything to the 
other, tho’ both was wishful. 

“ ‘ Breast to breast! ’ he says, as the Tyrone 
was pushin’ us forward closer an’ closer. 

An’ hand over back! ’ sez a Sargint that 
was bellin’. I saw a sword lick out past Crook’s 
ear like a snake’s tongue, an’ the Paythan was 
tuk in the apple av his throat like a pig at 
Dromeen fair. 

‘ Thank ye. Brother Inner Guard,’ sez Crook, 


WITH THE MAIN GUARD. 83 

cool as a cucumber widout salt. ‘ I wanted that 
room.’ An’ he wint forward by the thickness av a 
man’s body, havin’ turned the Paythan undher 
him. The man bit the heel off Crook’s boot in 
his death-bite. 

^ Push, men 1 ’ sez Crook. ^ Push, ye papei^ 
backed beggars! ’ he sez. ^ Am I to pull ye 
through ? ” So we pushed, an’ we kicked, an’ we 
swung, an’ we swore, an’ the grass bein’ slip¬ 
pery, our heels wouldn’t bite, an’ God help the 
front-rank man that wint down that day ! ” 

’Ave you ever bin in the Pit hentrance o’ 
the Vic. on a thick night ? ” interrupted Ortheris. 

It was worse nor that, for they was goin’ one 
way, an’ we wouldn’t ’ave it. Leastaways, Hi 
’adn’t much to say.” 

Faith, me son, ye said ut, thin. I kep’ the 
little man betune my knees as long as I cud, but 
he was pokin’ roun’ wid his bay’nit, blindin’ an’ 
stif&n’ feroshus. The devil of man is Orth’ris in 
a ruction—aren’t ye ? ” said Mulvaney. 

Don’t make game ! ” said the Cockney. I 
knowed I wasn’t no good then, but I guv ’em 
compot from the lef’ flank when we opened out. 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


84 

No 1 he said, bringing down his hand with a 
thump on the bedstead, a bay‘nit ain’t no good 
to a little man—might as well ’ave a bloomin’ 
fishin’ rod ! I ’ate a clawin’, maulin’ mess, but 
gimme a breech that’s wore out a bit, an’ ham- 
minition one year in store, to let the powder kiss 
the bullet, an’ put me somewheres where I ain’t 
trod on by ’ulkin swine like you, an’ s’elp me 
Gawd, I could bowl you over five times outer 
seven at height ’undred. Would yer try, you 
lumberin’ Hirishman ? ” 

^^No, ye wasp. I’ve seen ye do ut. I say 
there’s nothin’ better than the bay’nit wid a long 
reach, a double twist av ye can, an’ a slow 
recover.” 

Dom the bay’nit,” said Learoyd, who had 
been listening intently. Look a-here ! ” He 
picked up a rifle an inch below the foresight,with 
an underhanded action, and used it exactly as a 
man would use a dagger. 

^^Sitha,” said he softly, ^Uhot’s better than 
owt, for a mon can bash t’ faace wi’ thot, an’, if 
he divn’t he can breek t’ forearm o’ t’ gaard. 
‘Tis not i’t’ books, though. Gie me t’ butt.” 


WITH THE MAIN GUARD. 


85 

Each does ut his own way, like makin’ love,” 
said Mulvaney quietly ; the butt or the bay’nit 
or the bullet according to the natur’ av the man. 
Well, as I was sayin’, we shtuck there breathin’ 
in each other’s faces an’ swearin’ powerful ; 
Orth’ris cursin’ the mother that bore him bekaze 
he was not three inches taller. 

Prisintly he sez^ Duck, ye lump, an’ I can 
get at a man over your shouldher ! ’ 

^ You’ll blow me head off,’ I sez, throwin’ 
my arm clear ; ^ go through under my arm-pit, ye 
bloodthirsty little scutt,’ sez I, ^ but don’t shtick 
me or I’ll wring your ears round.’ 

Fwhat was ut ye gave the Pay than man for- 
iiinst me, him that cut at me whin I cudn’t move 
hand or foot? Hot or cowld was ut ? ” 

^^Cold,” said Ortheris, ^^up an’ under the rib- 
jint. ’E come down flat. Best for you ’e did.” 

Thrue, my son ! This jam thing that I’m 
talkin’ about lasted for five minutes good, an’ thin 
we got our arms clear an’ wint in. I misremim- 
ber exactly fwhat I did, but I didn’t want Dinah 
to be a widdy at the Depot. Thin, after some 
promishkuous hackin’ we shtuck again, an’ the 


86 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


Tyrone behin’ was callin’ us dogs an’ cowards an' 
all manner av names; we barrin’ their way. 

^ Fwhat ails the Tyrone ? ’ thinks I; ^ they’ve 
the makin’s av a most convanient fight here.’ 

A man behind me sez beseechful an’ in a 
whisper:—^ Let me get at thim ! For the Love 
av Mary give me room beside ye, ye tall man ! ’ 

^ An’ who are you that’s so anxious to be 
kilt ? ’ sez I, widout turnin’ my head, for the long 
knives was dancin’ in front like the sun on Done¬ 
gal Bay whin ut’s rough. 

u ^ We’ve seen our dead,’ he sez, squeezin’ into 
me; ^ our dead that was men two days gone! 
An’ me that was his cousin by blood could not 
bring Tim Coulan off ! Let me get on,’ he sez, 
^ let me get to thim or I’ll run ye through the 
back 1 ’ 

^ My troth,’ thinks I, ^ if the Tyrone have 
seen their dead, God help the Paythans this day ! ’ 
An’ thin I knew why the Oirish was ragin’ behind 
us as they was. 

gave room to the man, an’ he ran forward 
wid the Haymakers’ Lift on his bay’nit an’ swung 
a Pay than clear off his feet by the belly-band av 


WITH THE MAIN GUARD. 87 

tlie brute, an’ the iron bruk at the lockin’- 
ring. 

‘ Tim Coulan ’ll slape easy to-night/ sez he 
wid a grin ; an’ the next minut his head was in 
two halves and he wint down grinnin’ by sections. 

The Tyrone was pushin’ an’ pushin’ in, an 
our men was swearin’ at thim, an’ Crook was 
workin’ away in front av us all, his sword-arm 
swingin’ like a pump-handle an’ his revolver spit- 
tin’ like a cat. But the strange thing av ut was 
the quiet that lay upon. ’Twas like a fight in a 
drame—except for thim that was dead. 

Whin I gave room to the Oirishman I was 
expinded an’ forlorn in my inside. ’Tis a way I have, 
savin’ your presince, Sorr, in action. ^ Let me out, 
bhoys,’ sez I, backin’ in among thim. ^ I’m goin’ 
to be onwell! ’ Faith they gave me room at the 
wurriid, though they would not ha’ given room 
for all Hell wid the chill off. When I got clear, 
I was, savin’ your presince, Sorr, outragis sick 
bekaze I had dhrunk heavy that day. 

Well an’ far out av harm was a Sargint av 
the Tyrone sittin’ on the little orf’cer bhoy who 
had stopped Crook from rowlin’ the rocks. Oh, 


§8 SOLDIERS THREE. 

he was a beautiful bhoj, an' the long black 
curses was sliding out av his innocint mouth likfe 
jnornin’-jew from a rose ! 

‘ Fwhat have you got there ? ’ sez I to the 
Bargint. 

^ Wan av Her Majesty’s bantams wid hig 
spurs up,’ sez he. ^ He’s goin’ to Coort-martial 
me.’ 

^ Let me go! ’ sez the little orf’cer bhoy. 
‘ Let me go and command my men 1 ’ manin’ 
thereby the Black Tyrone which was beyond any 
command—ay, even av they had made the Divil 
a Field-orf’cer. 

^ His father howlds my mother’s cow-feed in 
Clonmel,’ sez the man that was sittin’ on him. 
^Will I go back to his mother an’ tell her that 
I’ve let him throw himself away? Lie still, ye 
little pinch av dynamite, an’ Coort-martial me 
afther wards.’ 

^ Good,’ sez I; ‘ ’tis the likes av liim makes 
the likes av the Commandher-in-Chief, but we 
mustpresarve thim. Fwhat d’ you want to do, 
Sorr ? ’ sez I, very politeful. 

^ Kill the beggars—kill the beggars! * he 


WITH THE MAIN GUARD. 89 

shqueaks; his big blue eyes fairly brimmin’ wid 
tears. 

^ An’ how’ll ye do that?’ sez I. ^You’ve 
shquibbed off your revolver like a child wid a 
cracker; you can make no play wid that fine 
large sword av yours; an’ your hand’s shakin’ 
like an asp on a leaf. Lie still and grow/ 
sez I. 

‘ Get hack to your comp’ny/ sez he ; ^ you’re 
insolint! ’ 

^ All in good time/ sez I, ^ hut I’ll have a 
dhrink first/ 

Just thin Crook comes up, blue an’ white all 
over where he wasn’t red. 

^ Wather ! ’ sez he ; ^ I’m dead wid drouth 1 
Oh, but it’s a gran’ day! ’ 

He dhrank half a skinful, and the rest he tilts 
into his chest, an’ it fair hissed on the hairy hide 
av him. He sees the little orf’cer bhoy undher 
the Sargint. 

^ Fwhat’s yonder ? ’ sez he. 

^ Mutiny, Sorr,’ sez the Sargint, an’ the orf’eer 
bhoy begins pleadin’ pitiful to Crook to be let 
go: but divil a bit wud Crook budge. 


go 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


‘^^Kape iiim'there/ he sez, ^’tis no child’s 
work this day. By the same token/ sez he, ^ I’ll 
coiifishcate that iligant nickel-plated scent-sprin¬ 
kler av yours, for my own has been vomitin’ dish- 
graceful ! ’ 

Tile fork av his hand was black wid the 
back-spit av the machine. So he tuk the orf’cer 
bhoy’s revolver. Ye may look, Sorr, but, by my 
faith there's a dale more done in the field than 
ieer gets into Field Ordhers ! 

Come on, Mulvaney,’ sez Crook ; ^ is this a 
Coort-martial ? ’ The two av us wint back to¬ 
gether into the mess an’ the Paythans were still 
standin’ up. They was not too impart’nint 
though, for the Tyrone was callin’ wan to another 
to remimber Tim Coulan. 

Crook stepped outside av the strife an’ 
looked anxious, his eyes rowlin’ roun’. 

^ F wliat is ut, Sorr ? ’ sez I; ^ can I get ye 
anything ? ’ 

^ Where’s a bugler ? ’ sez he. 

I wint into the crowd—our men was dhrawin’ 
breath bellin’ the Tyrone who was fightin’ like 
sowls in tormint—an’ prisintly I came acrost 


WITH THE MAIN GUARD. 


91 


little Frehan, our bugler blioy, pokin’ roun’ 
among the best wid a rifle an’ bay’nit. 

^ Is amusin’ yoursilf fwhat you’re paid for, 
ye limb?’sez I, catchin’ him by the scruff. 
^Come out av that an’ attind to your duty,’ I 
sez; but the bhoy was not pleased. 

I’ve got wan,’ sez he, grinnin’, ^ big as you^ 
Mulvaney, an’ fair half as ugly. Let me go get 
another.’ 

I was dishpleased at the personability av that 
remark, so I tucks him under my arm an’ carries 
him to Crook, who was watchin’ how the fight 
wdnt. Crook cuffs him till the bhoy cries, an’ 
thin sez nothin’ for a whoile. 

The Paythans began to flicker onaisy, an’ 
our men roared. ^ Opin ordher! Double! ’ sez 
Crook. ^ Blow, child, blow for the honor av the 
British Arrmy! ’ 

That bhoy blew like a typhoon, an’ the Tyrone 
an’ we opined out as the Paythans broke, an’ 1 
saw that fwhat had gone before wud be kissin’ 
an’ husfsrin’ to fwhat was to come. We’d dhruv 
thim into a broad part av the gut whin they gave, 
an’ thin we opined out an’ fair danced down the 


92 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


valley, dhrivin’ thim before us. Oh, ’twas lovely, 
an^ stiddy, too! There was the Sargints on the 
flanks av what was left av us, kapin^ touch, an’ 
the fire was runnin’ from flank to flank, an’ 
the Paythans was dhroppin’. We opined 
out wid the widenin’ av the valley, an’ whin 
the valley narrowed we closed again like the 
shticks on a lady’s fan, an’ at the far ind av the 
gut where they thried to stand, we fair blew 
them off their feet, for we had expinded very 
little ammimition by reason av the knife 
work.’’ 

Hi used thirty rounds goin’ down that 
valley,” said Ortheris, an’ it was gentleman’s 
work. Might ’a’ done it in a white ’andker- 
chief an’ pink silk stockin’s, that part. Hi was 
on in that piece.” 

You could ha’ heard the Tyrone yellin’ a 
mile away,” said Mulvaney, an’ ’twas all their 
Sargints cud do to get thim off. They was mad 
—mad—mad ! Crook sits down in the quiet thal 
fell whin we had gone down the valley, an’ covers 
his face wid his hands. Prisintly we all came 
back again accordin’ to our natures and dispa 


WITH THE MAIN GUARD. 93 

siskins, for they, mark you, show through the hide 
av a man in that hour. 

^ Biioys ! bhoys ! ’ sez Crook to himself. ^ I 
misdoubt we could ha’ engaged at long range an’ 
saved betther men than me.’ He looked at our 
dead an’ said no more. 

‘ Captain dear,’ sez a man av the Tyrone? 
cornin’ up wid his mouth bigger than iver his 
mother kissed ut, spittin’ blood like a whale; 
‘ Captain dear,’ sez he, ‘ if wan or two in the 
shtalls have been discommoded, the gallery have 
enjoyed the performances av a Roslius.’ 

Thin I knew that man for the Dublin dock- 
rat he was—wan av the bhoys that made the 
lessee av Silver’s Theater gray before his time 
wid tearin’ out the bowils av the benches 
an’ t’rowin’ thim into the pit. So I passed 
the wurrud that I knew when I was in the 
Tyrone an’ we lay in Dubhn. ^ I don’t know 
who ’twas,’ I whispers, ^ an’ I don’t care, but 
anyways I’ll knock the face av you, Tim 
Kelly.” 

^ Eyah I ’ sez the man, ‘ was you there too ? 
We’ll call ut Silver’s Theater.’ Half the Tyrone, 


94 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


kn owin’ the ould place, tuk ut up: so we called 
lit Silver’s Theater. 

The little orf’cer bhoy av the Tyrone was 
thrimblin’ an’ cryin’. He had no heart for the 
Coort Martials that he talked so big upon. 
^ Ye’ll do well later,’ sez Crook, very quiet, ‘ for 
not bein’ allowed to kill yourself for amusement.’ 

‘ I’m a dishgraced man ! ’ sez the little orf’cer 
bhoy. 

‘ Put me undher arrest, Sorr, if you will, but, 
by my sowl, I’d do it again sooner than face your 
mother wid you dead,’ sez the Sargint that had 
sat on his head, standin’ to attention an salutin’. 
But the young wan only cried as tho’ his little 
heart was breakin.’ 

Thin another man av the Tyrone came up, 
wid the fog av fightin’ on him.” 

The what, Mulvaney ? ” 

^^Fog av fightin’. You know, Sorr, that, like 
makin’ love, ut takes each man diff’rint. Now I 
can’t help bein’ powerful sick whin I’m in action. 
Orth’ris, here, niver stops swearin’ from ind to 
ind, an’ the only time that Learoyd opins his 
mouth to sing is whin he is messin’ wid other 


WITH THE MAIN GUARD. 95 

people’s heads; for he’s a dhirty fighter is Jock 
Learoyd. Recruities sometimes cry, an’ some¬ 
times they don’t know fwhat they do, an some¬ 
time they are all for cuttin’ throats an’ such like 
dirtiness; hut some men get heavy-dead-dhrunk 
on the fightin’. This man was. He was stag¬ 
gerin’, an’ his eyes were half shut, an’ we cud 
hear him dhraw breath twinty yards away. He 
sees the little orf’cer bhoy, an’ comes up, talkin’ 
thick an’ drowsy to himsilf. ^ Blood the young 
whelp! ’ he sez ; ^ blood the young whelp ; ’ an’ 
wid that he threw up his arms, shpun roun’, an’ 
dropped at our feet, dead as a Paythan, an there 
was never sign or scratch on him. They said 
’twas his heart was rotten, but oh, ’twas a quare 
thing to see! 

Thin we wint to bury our dead, for we wud 
not lave thim to the Paythans, an’ in movin’ 
among the hay then we nearly lost that little orf’¬ 
cer bhoy. He was for givin’ wan divil wather 
and layin’ him aisy against a rock. ^ Be careful, 
Sorr,’ sez I; ^ a wounded Paythan’s worse than a 
live wan.’ My troth, before the words was out 
of my mouth, the man on the ground fires at the 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


96 

Officer blioy lanin’ over him, an’ I saw the helmit 
fly. I dropped the butt on the face av the man 
an’ tuk his pistol. The little orf’cer bhoy turned 
very white, for the hair av half his head was 
singed away. 

‘ I tould you so, Sorr! ’ sez I; an’, afther 
that, whin he wanted to help a Paythan I stud 
wid the muzzle contagious to the ear. They dare 
not do anythin’ but curse. The Tyrone was 
growlin’ like dogs over a bone that has been taken 
away too soon, for they had seen their dead, an’ 
they wanted to kill ivry sowl on the ground. 
Crook tould thim that he’d blow the hide off any 
man that misconducted himself; but, seeing that 
ut was the first time the Tyrone had iver seen 
their dead, I do not wondher they were on the 
sharp. ’Tis a shameful sight! Whin I first saw 
ut I wud niver ha’ given quarter to any man north 
of the Khaibar—no, nor woman either, for the 
women used to come out afther dhark—Auggrh ! 

Well, evenshually we buried our dead an’ tuk 
away our wounded, an come over the brow av the 
hills to see the Scotchies an’ the Gurkys taking 
tay with the PaythaiJS^ in bucketsfuls. We were 


WITH THE MAIN GUARD. 97 

a gang av dissolute ruffians, for the blood had 
caked the dust, an’ the sweat had cut the cake, 
an’ our bay’nits was bangin’ like butchers’ steels 
betune our legs, an’ most av us were marked one 
way or another. 

A Staff Orf’cer man, clean as a new rifle, 
rides up an’ sez :—‘ What damned scarecrows are 
you?’ 

^ A comp’ny av Her Majesty’s Black Tyrone 
an’ wan av the Ould Rig’mint,’ sez Crook very 
quiet, givin’ our visitors the flure as ’twas. 

^ Oh ! ’ sez the Staff Orf’cer; ^ did you dis¬ 
lodge that Reserve ? ’ 

^ No r sez Crook, an’ the Tyrone laughed. 

^ Thin fwhat the divil have ye done ? ’ 

^ Disthroyed ut,’ sez Crook, an’ he took us on, 
but not before Toomey that was in the Tyrone 
sez aloud, his voice somewhere in his stummick: 
—^ Fwhat in the name av misfortune does this 
parrit widout a tail mane by shtoppin’ the road 
av his betthers ? ’ 

^^The Staff Oiff’cer wint blue, an’ Toomey 
makes him pink by changin’ to the voice av a 
minowderin’ woman an’ sayin’:—^ Come an’ kiss 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


98 

me, Major dear, for me husband’s at the wars an 
I’m all alone at the Depot.* 

The Staff Orf’cer wint away, an’ I cud see 
Crook’s shoulthers shakin*. 

^^His Corp’ril checks Toomey. ‘Lave me 
alone,* sez Toomey, widout a wink. ‘ I was his 
batman before he was married an’ he knows 
fwhat I mane, av you don’t. There’s nothin* 
like livin’ in the height av society.’ D’you re- 
mimber that, Orth’ris ! ” 

. “ Hi do. Toomey, ’e died in ’orspital, next 
week it was, ’cause I bought *arf his kit; an* I 
remember after that—” 

“ GuapvRd, turn out ! *’ 

The Relief had come; it was four o*clock. 
“ I’ll catch a kyart for you, Sorr,” said Mulvaney, 
diving hastily into his accouterments. “ Come 
up to the top av the Fort an’ we’ll pershue our 
invistigations into McGrath’s shtable.” The re¬ 
lieved Guard strolled round the main bastion on 
its way to the swimming-bath, and Learoyd grew 
almost talkative. Ortheris looked into the Fort 
ditch and across the plain. “ Ho ! it’s weary 
waitin’ for Ma-ary ! ” he hummed; “ but I’d like 


WITH THE MAIN GUARD. 


99 


to kill some more bloomin’ Paythans before my 
time’s up. War! Bloody war! North, East, 
South, and West.’’ 

Amen,” said Learoyd slowdy, 

Fvvbat’s here?” said Mulvaney, checking at 
a blur of w^hite by the foot of the old sentry-box. 
He stooped and touched it. It’s Norah—Norah 
McTaggart 1 Why, Nonie darlin’, fwhat are ye 
doin’ out av your mother’s bed at this time ? ” 

The two-year-old child of Sergeant McTaggart 
must have wandered for a breath of cool air to 
the very verge of the parapet of the Fort ditch. 
Her tiny night-shift was gathered into a wisp 
round her neck and she moaned in her sleep. 

See there 1 ” said Mulvaney; poor lamb I 
Look at the heat-rash on the innocint skin av her. 
’Tis hard—crool hard even for us. Fwhat must it 
be for these? Wake up, Nonie, your mother will 
be woild about you. Begad, the child might ha’ 
fallen into the ditch ! ” 

He picked her up in the growing light and set 
her on his shoulder, and her fair curls touched 
the grizzled stubble of his temples. Ortheris and 
Learoyd followed snapping their fingers, while 


lOO 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


Norah smiled at them a sleepy smile. Then 
caroled Mulvaney, clear as a lark, dancing the 
baby on his arm,— 

“ If any young man should marry you, 

Say nothin’ about the joke ; 

That iver ye slep’ in a sinthry-box. 

Wrapped up in a soldier’s cloak.” 

Though, on my sowl, Nonie,” he said gravely, 
there was not much cloak about you. Niver 
mind, you won’t dhress like this ten years to 
come. Kiss your friends an’ run along to your 
mother.” 

Nonie, set down close to the Married Quarters, 
nodded with the quiet obedience of the soldier’s 
child, but, ere she pattered off over the flagged 
path, held up her lips to be kissed by the Three 
Musketeers. Ortheris wiped his mouth with the 
back of his hand and swore sentimentally; 
Learoyd turned pink ; and the two walked away 
together. The Yorkshireman lifted up his voice 
and gave in thunder the chorus of The Sentry- 
BoXy while Ortheris piped at his side. 

^^’Bin to a bloomin’ sing-song, you two? ” said 
the Artilleryman, who was taking his cartridge 


WITH THE MAIN GUARD. lOI 

down to the Morning Gun. You’re over merry 
for these dashed days.” 

“ I bid ye take care o’ the brat, said hft 
For it comes of a noble race,” 

bellowed Learoyd. The voices died out in the 
s wimmin g-hath. 

Oh, Terence ! ” I said, dropping into Mul- 
vaney’s speech, when we were alone, it’s you 
that have the Tongue ! ” 

He looked at me wearily ; his eyes were sunk 
in his head, and his face was drawn and white. 
^^Eyah!’’ said he; ^^Tve blandandhered thim 
throuofh the niofht somehow, but can thim that 
helps others help thimselves ? Answer me that, 
Sorr!” 

And over the bastions of Fort Amara broke 
the pitiless day. 


IN THE MATTER OF A PRIVATE. 


Hurrah I hurrah ! a soldier’s life for me I 
Shout, boys, shout I for it makes you jolly and free. 

The Ramrod Corpb 

People who have seen, state that one o£ the 
quaintest spectacles of human frailty is an out¬ 
break of hysterics in a girls’ school. It starts 
without warning, generally on a hot afternoon, 
among the elder pupils. A girl giggles till the 
giggles get beyond control. Then she throws 
up her head, and cries, Honk, honk, lionk,^^ like 
a wild goose, and tears mix with the laughter. 
If the mistress he wise, she will say something 
severe at this point to check matters. If she he 
tender-hearted, and send for a drink of water, the 
chances are largely in favor of another girl laugh¬ 
ing at the afflicted one and herself collapsing. 
Thus the trouble spreads, and may end in half of 
what answers to the Lower Sixth of a boys’ school 

T02 



IN THE MATTER OF A PRIVATE. 103 

rocking and whooping together. Given a week 
of warm weather, two stately promenades per 
diem, a heavy mutton and rice meal in the middle 
of the day, a certain amount of nagging from the 
teachers, and a few other things, some really 
amazing effects can he secured. At least, this is 
what folk say who have had experience. 

Now, the Mother Superior of a Convent and 
the Colonel of a British Infantry Regiment 
would be justly shocked at any comparison being 
made between their respective charges. But it is 
a fact that, under certain circumstances, Thomas 
in bulk can be worked up into ditthering, rip¬ 
pling hysteria. He does not weep, but he shows 
his trouble unmistakably, and the consequences 
get into the newspapers, and all the good and 
virtuous people who hardly know a Martini from 
a Snider say: Take away the brute’s ammuni¬ 
tion ! ” 

Thomas isn’t a brute, and his business, which 
is to look after the virtuous people, demands that 
he shall have his ammunition to his hand. He 
doesn’t wear silk stockings, and he really ought 
to be supplied with a new Adjective to help him 


104 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


to express his opinions: but, for all that, he is a 
great man. If you call him the heroic defender 
of the national honor ” one day, and a brutal 
and licentious soldiery ’’ the next, you naturally 
bewilder him, and he looks upon you with suspi‘ 
cion. There is nobody to speak for Thomas ex* 
cept people who have theories to work off on 
him; and nobody understands Thomas except 
Thomas, and he does not know what is the matter 
with himself. 

That is the prologue. This is the story:— 
Corporal Slane was engaged to be married to 
Miss Jhansi McKenna, whose history is well 
known in the regiment and elsewhere. He had 
secured his Coloners leave, and, being popular 
with the men, every arrangement had been made 
to give the wedding what Private Ortheris called 
eeklar.’’ It fell in the heart of the hot weather, 
and, after the wedding, Slane was going up to 
the Hills with the bride. None the less, Slane’s 
grievance was that the affair would be only a 
hired carriage wedding, and lie felt that the 
eeklar ” of that was meager. Miss McKenna 
did not care so much. The Sergeant’s wife was 


IN THE MATTER OF A PRIVATE. I05 

helping her to make her wedding-dress, and she 
was very busy. Slane was, just then, the only 
moderately contented man in barracks. All the 
rest were more or less miserable. 

And they had so much to make them happy, 
too! All their work was over at eight in the 
morning, and for the rest of the day they could 
lie on their backs and smoke Canteen plug and 
swear at the punkah-coolies. They enjoyed a 
fine, full flesh meal in the middle of the day, and 
then threw themselves down on their cots and 
sweated and slept till it was cool enough to go 
out with their towny,’’ whose vocabulary con¬ 
tained less than six hundred words, and the Ad¬ 
jective, and whose views on every conceivable 
question they had heard many months before. 

There was the Canteen of course, and there 
was the Temperance room with the second-hand 
papers in it; but a man of any profession cannot 
read for eight hours a day in a temperature of 
96° or 98° in the shade, running up sometimes to 
103° at midnight. Very few men, even though 
they get a pannikin of flat, stale, muddy beer and 
hide it under their cots, can continue drinking for 


I 06 SOLDIERS THREE. 

six hours a day. One man tried, but he died, 
and nearly the whole regiment went to his funeral 
because it gave them something to do. It was 
too early for the modified excitement of fever or 
cholera. The men could only wait and wait and 
wait, and watch the shadow of the barracks creep¬ 
ing across the blinding white dust. That was a 
gay life 1 

They lounged about cantonments—it was too 
hot for any sort of game, almost too hot for vice 
.—and fuddled themselves in the evening, and 
filled themselves to distension with the healthy 
nitrogenous food provided for them, and the more 
they stoked the less exercise they took and more 
explosive they grew. Then the tempers began to 
wear away, and men fell a-brooding over insults 
real or imaginary. They had nothing else to 
fchink of. The tone of the repartees ” changed, 
and instead of saying light-heartedly : I’ll knock 
your silly face in,” men grew laboriously polite 
and hinted that the cantonments were not bio* 
enough for themselves and their enemy, and that 
there would be more space for one of the two in 
a Place which it is not polite to mention. 


IN THE MATTER OF A PRIVATE. 10? 

It may have been the Devil who arranged the 
thing, but the fact of the case is that Losson had 
for a long time been worrying Simmons in an 
aimless way. It gave him occupation. The two 
men had their cots side by side, and would some¬ 
times spend a long afternoon swearing at each 
other ; but Simmons was afraid of Losson and dared 
not challenge him to fight. He thought over the 
words in the hot still nights, and half the hate he 
felt towards Losson he vented on the wretched 
punkah-coolie. 

Losson bought a parrot in the bazar, and put 
it in a little cage, and lowered the cage into the 
cool darkness of a well, and sat on the well-curb, 
shouting bad language down to the parrot. He 
taught it to say: Simmons, ye so-oor,” which 
means swine, and several other things entirely 
unfit for publication. He was a big gross man, 
and he shook like a jelly when the parrot caught 
the sentence correctly. Simmons, however, shook 
with rage, for all the room were laughing at him 
—the parrot was such a disreputable puff of 
green feathers, and looked so human when it 
chattered. Losson used to sit, swinging his fat 


I08 SOLDIERS THREE. 

legs, on the side of the cot, and ask the parrot 
what it thought of Simmons. The parrot would 
answer :—Simmons, ye so-oor.’’ Good boy,” 
Losson used to say, scratching the parrot’s head; 
^^ye’ear that, Sim?” And Simmons used to 
turn over on his stomach and make answer; 

1 ’ear. Take ’eed you don’t ’ear something one 
of these days.” 

In the restless nights, after he had been asleep 
all day, fits of blind rage came upon Simmons 
and held him till he trembled all over, while he 
thought in how many different ways he would 
slay Losson. Sometimes he would picture him¬ 
self trampling the life out of the man, with heavy 
ammunition boots, and at others smashing in his 
face with the butt, and others jumping on his 
shoulders and dragging the head back till the 
neck-bone cracked. Then his mouth would feel 
hot and fevered, and he would reach out for an¬ 
other sup of the beer in the pannikin. 

But the fancy that came to him most frequentlv 
and stayed with him longest was one connected 
with the great roll of fat under Losson’s right 
ear. He noticed it first on a moonlight night, 


IN THE MATTER OF A PRIVATE. I09 

and thereafter It was always before his eyes. It 
was a fascinating roll of fat. A man could get 
his hand upon it and tear away one side of the 
neck ; or he could place the muzzle of a rifle on 
it and blow away all the head in a flash. Lossoii 
had no right to be sleek and contented and well-to- 
do, when he, Simmons, was the butt of the room. 
Some day, perhaps, he would show those who 
laughed at the Simmons, ye so-oor ’’ joke, that 
he was as good as the rest, and held a man’s life 
in the crook of his forefinger. When Losson 
snored, Simmons hated him more bitterly than 
ever. Why should Losson be able to sleep 
when Simmons had to stay awake hour after hour, 
tossing and turning on the tapes, with the dull 
pain gnawing into his right side and his head 
throbbing and aching after Canteen ? He 
thought over this for many many nights, and the 
world became unprofitable to him. He even 
blunted his naturally fine appetite with beer and 
tobacco; and all the while the parrot talked at 
and made a mock of him. 

The heat continued and the tempers wore 
away more quickly than before. A Sergeant’s 


no 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


wife died of heat-apoplexy in the night, and 
the rumor ran abroad that it was cholera. Men 
rejoiced openly, hoping that it would spread and 
send them into camp. But that was a false alarm. 

It was late on a Tuesday evening, and the 
men were waiting in the deep double verandas 
for Last Posts,’’ when Simmons went to the box 
at the foot of his bed, took out his pipe, and 
slammed the lid down with a bang that echoed 
through the deserted barrack like the crack of a 
rifle. Ordinarily speaking, the men would have 
taken no notice; but their nerves were fretted to 
fiddle-strings. They jumped up, and three or 
four clattered into the barrack-room only to find 
Simmons kneeling by his box. 

Ow! It’s you, is it ? ” they said and laughed 
foolishly; ‘‘ we thought ’twas—” 

Simmons rose slowly. If the accident had so 
shaken his fellows, what would not the reality 
do? 

You thought it was—did you? And what 
makes you think? ’’ he said, lashing himself into 
madness as he went on ; to Hell with youi 
thinking, ye dirty spies.’’ 


IN THE MATTER OF A PRIVATE. Ill 

Simmons, ye so-oor/^ chuckled the parrot in 
the veranda sleepily, recognizing a well-known 
voice. And that was absolutely all. 

The tension snapped. Simmons fell back on 
the arm-rack deliberately,—the men were at the 
far end of the room,—and took out his rifle and 
packet of ammunition. Don’t go playing the 
goat, Sim! ” said Losson; put it down,” but 
there was a quaver in his voice. Another man 
stopped, slipped his boot and hurled it at 
Simmon’s head. The prompt answer was a shot 
which, fired at random, found its billet in Losson’s 
throat. Losson fell forward without a word, and 
the others scattered. 

You thought it was! ” yelled Simmons. 

You’re drivin’ me to it! I tell you you’re 
drivin’ me to it! Get up, Losson, an’ don’t lie 
shammin’ there — you an’ your blasted parrit 
that druv me to it! ” 

But there was an unaffected reality about 
Losson’s pose that showed Simmons what he had 
done. The men were still clamoring in the 
veranda. Simmons appropriated two more packets 
of ammunition and ran into the moonlight, mutter- 


II2 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


ing : I’ll make a night of it. Thirty roun’s, an* 
the last for myself. Take you that, you dogs 1 ’* 
He dropped on one knee and fired into the 
brown of the men in the veranda, but the bullet flew 
high, and landed in the brickwork with a vicious 
Phwit that made some of the younger men turn 
pale. It is, as musketry theorists observe, one 
thing to fire and another to be fired at. 

Then the instinct of the chase flared up. the 
news spread from barrack to barrack, and the 
men doubled out intent on the capture of 
Simmons, the wild beast, who was heading for 
the Cavalry parade-ground, stopping now and again 
to send back a shot and a curse in the direction 
of his pursuers. 

I’ll learn you to spy on me ! ” he shouted ; 

I’ll learn you to give me dorg’s names ! Come 
,011 the ’ole lot o’ you ! Colonel John Anthony 
Deever, C. B. ! ” —he turned towards the Infantry 
Mess and shook his rifle— you think yourself 
the devil of a man—but I tell you that if you 
put your ugly old carcass outside o’ that door, 
I’ll make you the poorest-lookin’ man in the army. 
Come out, Colonel John Anthony Deever, C. B. 1 


IN THE MATTER OF A PRIVATE. II3 

Come out and see me practiss on the rainge. I’m 
the crack shot of the ’ole bloomin’ battalion.” In 
proof of which statement Simmons fired at the 
lighted windows of the mess-house. 

Private Simmons, E Company, on the Cavalry 
parade-ground. Sir, with thirty rounds,” said a 
Sergeant breathlessly to the Colonel. Shootin’ 
right and leF, Sir. Shot Private Losson. 
What’s to be done, Sir ? ” 

Colonel John Anthony Deever, C. B., sallied 
out, only to be saluted by a spurt of dust at his 
feet. 

Pull up!” said the Second in Command; 
I don’t want my step in that way. Colonel. 
He’s as dangerous as a mad dog.” 

Shoot him like one, then,” said the Colonel 
bitterly, if he won’t take his chance. My 
regiment, too 1 If it had been the Towheads I 
could have understood.” 

Private Simmons had occupied a strong 
position near a well on the edge of the parade- 
ground, and was defying the regiment to come 
on. The regiment was not anxious to comply 
with the request, for there is small honor in being 


114 SOLDIERS THREE. 

shot by a fellow-private. Only Corporal Slanej 
rifle in hand, threw himself down on the ground, 
and wormed his way towards the well. 

Don’t shoot/’ said he to the men round him; 

like as not you’ll ’it me. I’ll catch the beggar, 
livin’.” 

Simmons ceased shouting for a while, and the 
noise of trap-wheels could be heard across the 
plain. Major Oldyne, Commanding the Horse 
Battery, was coming back from a dinner in the 
Civil Lines ; was driving after his usual custom 
—that is to say, as fast as the horse could go. 

A orf’cer ! A blooming spangled orf’cer ! ” 
shrieked Simmons ; I’ll make a scarecrow of 
that orf’cer ! ” The trap stopped. 

What’s this ? ” demanded the Major of 
Gunners. You there, drop your rifle.” 

Why, it’s Jerry Blazes! I ain’t got no 
quarrel with you, Jerry Blazes. Pass frien’, an’ 
all’s well! ” 

But Jerry Blazes had not the faintest intention 
of passing a dangerous murderer. He was, as 
his adoring Battery swore long and fervently, with- 
wt knowledge of fear, and they were surely the 


IN THE MATTER OF A PRIVATE. II5 

best judges, for Jerry Blazes, it was notorious, had 
done his possible to kill a man each time the 
Battery went out. 

He walked towards Simmons, with the intention 
of rushing him, and knocking him down. 

Don’t make me do it, Sir,” said Simmons; 
I ain’t got nothing agin you. Ah 1 you 
would! ”—the Major broke into a run—Take 
that then 1 ” 

The Major dropped with a bullet through his 
shoulder, and Simmons stood over him. He had 
lost the satisfaction of killing Losson in the de¬ 
sired way: but here was a helpless body to his 
hand. Should he slip in another cartridge, and 
blow off the head, or with the butt smash in the 
white face ? He stopped to consider, and a cry 
went up from the far side of the parade-ground :— 
He’s killed Jerry Blazes! ” But in the shelter 
of the w^ell-pillars Simmons was safe, except when 
he stepped out to fire. I'll blow yer ’andsome 
^ead off, Jerry Blazes,’’said Simmons reflectively : 

six an’ three is nine an’ one is ten, an’ that 
leaves me another nineteen, an’ one for myself.” 
He tugged at the string of the second packet of 


ii6 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


ammunition. Corporal Slane crawled out of the 
shadow of a bank into the moonlight. 

I see you 1 ” said Simmons ! come a bit fur- 
der on an’ I’ll do for you.” 

I’m cornin’/’ said Corporal Slane briefly; you 
done a bad day’s work, Sim. Come out ’ere an* 
come back with me.” 

Come to—/’ laughed Simmons, sending a 
cartrids’e home with his thumb. Not before I’ve 

O 

settled you an’ Jerry Blazes.” 

The Corporal was lying at full length in the 
dust of the parade-ground, rifle under him. 
Some of the less cautious men in the distance 
shouted :—Shoot ’im ! Shoot ’im, Slane ! ” 

You move ’and or foot, Slane,” said Simmons, 
an’ I’ll kick Jerry Blazes’ ’ead in, and shoot you 
after.” 

I ain’t movin’,” said the Corporal, raising 
his head; you daren’t ’it a man on ’is legs. Let 
go o’ Jerry Blazes an’ come out o’ that with your 
flstes. Come an’ ’it me. You daren’t, you bloom¬ 
in’ dog-shooter! ” 

^^I dare.” 

^^You lie, you man-sticker. You sneakin’* 


IN THE MATTER OF A PRIVATE. II7 

sheeny butcher, you lie. See there! ” Slane 
kicked the rifle away, and stood up in the peril of 
his life. Come on, now ! 

The temptation was more than Simmons could 
resist, for the Corporal in his white clothes offered 
a perfect mark. 

Don’t misname me,” shouted Simmons fire- 
ing as he spoke. The shot missed, and the shooter, 
blind with rage, threw his rifle down and rushed 
at Slane from the protection of the well. Within 
striking distance, he kicked savagely at Slane’s 
stomach, but the weedy Corporal knew something 
of Simmons’s weakness, and knew, too, the deadly 
guard for that kick. Bowing forward and draw¬ 
ing up his right leg till the heel of the right foot 
was set some three inches above the inside of the 
left knee-cap, he met the blow standing on one 
leg—exactly as Gonds stand when they meditate— 
and ready for the fall that would follow. There 
was an oath, the Corporal fell over to his own left 
as shinbone met shinbone, and the Private col¬ 
lapsed, his right leg broken an inch above the ankle. 

Pity you don’t know that guard, Sim,” said 
Slane, spitting out the dust as he rose. Then rais- 


Il8 SOLDIERS THREE. 

ing his voice—Come an’ take him orf. IVe 
bruk ’is leg.” This was not strictly true, for the 
Private had accomplished his own downfall, since 
it is the special merit of that leg-guard that the 
harder the kick the greater the kicker’s discomfi- 
tui’e. 

Slane walked to Jerry Blazes and hung over him 
with exaggerated solicitude, while Simmons, weep¬ 
ing with pain, was carried away. ’Ope you 
ain’t ’urt badly. Sir,” said Slane. The Major had 
fainted, and there was an ugly, ragged hole 
through the top of his arm. Slane knelt down 
and murmured: —S’elp me, I believe ’e’s dead. 
Well, if that ain’t my blooming luck all over ! ” 

But the Major was destined to lead his Battery 
afield for many a long day with unshaken nerve. 
He was removed, and nursed and petted into con¬ 
valescence, while the Battery discussed the wisdom 
of capturing Simmons, and blowing him from a 
gun. They idolized their Major, and his reappear¬ 
ance on parade resulted in a scene nowhere pro¬ 
vided for in the Army Regulations. 

Great, too, was the glory that fell to Slane’s 
share. The Gunners would have made him drunk 


IN THE MATTER OF A PRIVATE. I IQ 

thrice a day for at least a fortnight. Even the 
Colonel of his own regiment complimented him up' 
on his coolness, and the local paper called him a 
hero. Which things did not puff him up. When 
the Major proffered him money and thanks, the 
virtuous Corporal took the one and put aside the 
other. But he had a request to make and pre¬ 
faced it with many a Beg y’ pardon. Sir.” 
Could the Major see his way to letting the Slane- 
McKenna wedding be adorned by the presence of 
four Battery horses to pull a hired barouche ? 
The Major could, and so could the Battery. Ex¬ 
cessively so. It was a gorgeous wedding. 

Wot did I do it for?” said Corporal Slane. 

For the ’orses o’ course. Jhansi ain’t a beauty 
to look at, but I wasn’t goin’ to ’ave a hired turn¬ 
out. Jerry Blazes? If I’adn’t’a’wanted some¬ 
thing, Sim might ha’ bio wed Jerry Blazes’ bloom¬ 
ing ’ead into Hirish stew for aught I’d ’a’ cared.” 

And they hanged Private Simmons—hanged 
him as high as Haman in hollow square of the 
regiment; and the Colonel said it was Drink ! and 
the Chaplain was sure it was the Devil; and Sim- 


120 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


mons fancied it was both, but be didn’t know, and 
only hoped his fate would be a warning to his 
companions; and half a dozen intelligent publi¬ 
cists ” wrote six beautiful leading articles on The 
Prevalence of Crime in the Army.” 

But not a soul thought of comparing the 
bloody-minded Simmons ” to the squawking, 
gaping schoolgirl with which this story opens* 
That would have been too absurd I 


BLACK JACK. 


To the wake av Tim O’Hara 
Came company, 

All St. Patrick’s Alley 
Was there to see. 

The Wake of Tim O'Hara. 

There is a writer called Mr. Robert Louis 
Stevenson, who makes most delicate inlay-v/ork in 
black and white, and files out to the fraction of a 
hair. He has written a story about a Suicide 
Club, wherein men gambled for Death, because 
other amusements did not bite sufficiently. My 
friend Private Mulvaney knows nothing about 
Mr. Stevenson, but he once assisted informally 
at a meeting of almost such a club as that gentle¬ 
man has described; and his words are true. 

As the Three Musketeers share their silver, 
tobacco, and liquor together, as they protect each 
other in barracks or camp, and as they rejoice 
together over the joy of one, so do they divide 

I2I 



122 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


their sorrows. When Ortheris’s irrepressible 
tongue has brought him into cells for a season, 
or Learoyd has run amok through his kit and ac¬ 
couterments, or Mulvaney has indulged in strong 
waters, and under their influence reproved his 
Commanding Officer, you can see the trouble in 
the faces of the untouched twain. And the rest 
of the regiment know that comment or jest is 
unsafe. Generally the three avoid Orderly Room 
and the Corner Shop that follows, leaving both 
to the young bloods who have not sown their 
wild oats; but there are occasions . . . 

For instance, Ortheris was sitting on the draw¬ 
bridge of the main gate of Fort Amara, with his 
hands in his pockets and his pipe, bowl down, in 
his mouth. Learoyd was lying at full length on 
the turf of the glacis, kicking his heels in the 
air, and I came round the corner and asked for 
M ulvaney. 

Ortheris spat into the ditch and shook his head. 
‘‘ No o'ood seein’ ’im now,’’ said Ortheris: ^e’s 
a bloomin’ camel. Listen.” 

I heard on the flags of the veranda opposite 
to the cells, which are close to the Guard Room, 


BLACK JACK. 


123 


a measured step that I could have identified in 
the tramp of an army. There were twenty paces 
crescendo^ a pause, and then twenty dimin¬ 
uendo. 

That’s ’im,” said Ortheris ; my Gawd, that's 
mi 1 All for a bloomin’ button you could see 
your face in an’ a bit o’ lip that a bloomin’ Hark- 
angel would ’a’ guv back.” 

Mulvaney was doing pack-drill—was compelled, 
that is to say, to walk up and down for certain 
hours in full marching order, with rifle, bayonet, 
ammunition, knapsack, and overcoat. And his 
offense was being dirty on parade ! I nearly fell 
into the Fort Ditch with astonishment and wrath, 
for Mulvaney is the smartest man that ever 
mounted guard, and would as soon think of turn¬ 
ing out uncleanly as of dispensing with his 
trousers. 

Who was the Sergeant that checked him ? ” 
I asked. 

Mullins, o’ course,” said Ortheris. There 
ain’t no other man would whip ’im on the peg soe 
But Mullins ain’t a man. ’E’s a dirty little pig 
scraper, that’s wot ’e is.” 


124 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


What did Mulvaney say ? He’s not the make 
oi man to take that quietly/’ 

Said ! Bin better for ’im if ’e’d shut ’is mouth* 
Lord, ’ow we laughed ! ^ Sargint,’ ’e sez, ’ye say 

I’m dirty. Well,’ sez ’e’, ^ when your wife lets you 
blow your own nose for yourself, perhaps you’ll 
know wot dirt is. You’re himperFectly eddicated, 
Sargint,’ sez ’e, an’ then we fell in. But after 
p’rade, ’e was up an’ Mullins was swearin’ ’imself 
black in the face at Ord’ly Room that Mulvaney 
’ad called ’im a swine an’ Lord knows wot all. 
You know Mullins. ’E’ll ’ave ’is ’ead broke in 
one o’ these days, ’E’s too big a bloomin’ liar for 
ord’nary consumption. ^ Three hours ’ can an’ kit,’ 
sez the Colonel; ’not for bein’ dirty on p’rade, 
but for ’avin’ said somethin’ to Mullins, tho’ I do 
not believe,’ sez ’e, ^you said wot ’e said you said.’ 
An’ Mulvaney fell away sayin’ nothin’. You 
know ’e never speaks to the Colonel for fear o’get* 
tin’ ’imself fresh copped."'’ 

Mullins, a very young and very much married 
Sergeant, whose manners were partly the result 
of innate depravity and partly of imperfectly 
digested Board School, came over the bridge, 


BLACK JACK. 125 

and most rudely asked Ortheris what he wa« 
doing. 

Me ? said Ortheris. Ow! I’m waiting 
for my C’mission. ’Seed it cornin’ along yit ? ” 
Mullins turned purple and passed on. There 
was the sound of a gentle chuckle from the glacis 
where Learoyd lay. 

’E expects to get his C’mission some day,” ex¬ 
plained Orth’ris; Gawd ’elp the Mess that ’ave 
to put their ’ands into the same kiddy as ’im ! 
Wot time d’you make it, Sir ? Fewer! Mulva- 
ney ’ll he out in ’arf an hour. You don’t want to 
buy a dorg, Sir, do you ? A pup you can trust— 
’arf Rampore by the Colonel’s grey’ound.” 

Ortheris,” I answered sternly, for I knew 
what was in his mind, do you mean to say 
that—” 

I didn’t mean to arx money o’ you, any’ow,’’ 
said Ortheris ; I’d ’a’ sold you the dorg good 
an’ cheap, but—but—I know Mulvaney ’ll 
want somethin’ after weVe walked ’im orf, an* 
I ain’t got nothin’, nor ’e ’asn’t neither. I’d 
sooner sell you the dorg, Sir. ’S trewth I 
would! ” 


126 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


A shadow fell on the drawbridge, and Ortheris 
began to rise into the air, lifted by a huge hand 
upon his collar. 

Onything but t’ braass,” said Learoyd quietly, 
as he held the Londoner over the ditch. Ony¬ 
thing but t’ braass, Orth’ris, nia son ! Ah’ve got 
one rupee eight annas of ma own.’’ He showed 
two coins, and replaced Ortheris on the draw¬ 
bridge rail. 

yery good,” I said; where are you going 
to ? ” 

Goin’ to walk ’im orf wen ’e comes out—two 
miles or three or fowler,” said Ortheris. 

The footsteps within ceased. I heard the dull 
thud of a knapsack falling on a bedstead, followed 
by the rattle of arms. Ten minutes later, Mulva- 
ney, faultlessly attired, his lips compressed and his 
face as black as a thunderstorm, stalked into the 
sunshine on the drawbridge. Learoyd and Orthe¬ 
ris sprang from my side and closed in upon him, 
both leaning towards as horses lean upon the pole. 
In an instant they had disappeared down the 
sunken road to the cantonments, and I was left 
alone. Mulvaney had not seen fit to recognize me: 


BLACK JACK. 12? 

wherefore, 1 felt that his trouble must be heavy 
upon him. 

I climbed one of the bastions and watched the 
figures of the Three Musketeers grow smaller and 
smaller across the plain. They were walking as 
fast as they could put foot to the ground, and 
their heads were bowed. They fetched a great 
compass round the parade-ground, skirted the 
Cavalry lines, and vanished in the belt of trees 
that fringes the low land by the river. 

I followed slowly, and sighted them—dusty, 
sweating, but still keeping up their long, swinging 
tramp—on the river bank. They crashed through 
the Forest Reserve, headed towards the Bridge of 
Boats, and presently established themselves on the 
bow of one of the pontoons. I rode cautiously till 
I saw three puffs of white smoke rise and die out 
in the clear evening air, and knew that peace had 
come again. At the bridge-head they waved me 
forward with gestures of welcome. 

Tie up your ’orse,’* shouted Ortheris, an’ 
Bome on, sir. We’re all goin’ ’ome in this ’ere 
bloomin’ boat.” 

From the bridge-head to the Forest Officer’s 


128 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


bungalow is but a step. The mess-man was there^ 
and would see that a man held my horse. Did 
the Sahib require aught else—a peg, or beer ? 
Ritchie Sahib had left half a dozen bottles of 
the latter, but since the Sahib was a friend of 
Ritchie Sahib, and he, the mess-man, was a poor 
man— 

I gave my order quietly, and returned to the 
bridge. Mulvaney had taken off his boots, and 
was dabbling his toes in the water; Learoyd was 
lying on his back on the pontoon ; and Ortheris 
was pretending to row with a big bamboo. 

I’m an ould fool,” said Mulvaney, reflectively, 
“ dhraggin’ you two out here bekase I was undher 
the Black Dog—sulkin’ like a child. Me that 
was soldierin’ when Mullins, an’ be damned to 
him, was shquealin’ on a counterpin for foive 
shillin’s a week, an’ that not paid.’ Bhoys, I’ve 
took you foive miles out av natural pevarsity. 
Phew! ” 

^^Wot’s the odds as long as you’re ^appy?” 
said Ortheris, applying himself afresh to the bam- 
boo. As well ’ere as anywhere else.” 

Learoyd held up » Kupee and an eight-anna bit, 


BLACK JACK. 


129 

and shook his head sorrowfully, ^^Five mile 
from t’ Canteen, all along o' Mulvaney’s blaasted 
pride.” 

1 know ut,” said Mulvaney penitently. 

Why will ye come wid me ? An' yet I wud be 
mortlal sorry if ye did not—any time—though I 
am ould enough to know betther. But I will do 
penance. I will take a dlirink av wather.” 

Ortheris squeaked shrilly. The butler of the 
Forest bungalow was standing near the railings 
with a basket, uncertain how to clamber down to 
the pontoon. 

Might 'a' know’d you’d ’a’ got liquor out o 
bloomin’ desert, sir,” said Ortheris, gracefully, to 
me. Then to the mess-man : Easy with them 
there bottles. They’re worth their weight In gold. 
Jock, ye long-armed beggar, get out o’ that an’ 
hike ’em down.” 

Learoyd had the basket on the pontoon in an 
instant, and the Three Musketeers gathered round 
it with dry lips. They drank my health in due 
and ancient form, and thereafter tobacco tasted 
sweeter than ever. They absorbed all the beer, 
and disposed themselves in picturesque attitudes 
9 


130 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


to admire the setting sun,—no man speaking foi 
a while. 

Mulvaney’s head dropped upon his chest, and 
we thought that he was asleep. 

What on earth did you come so far for ? ] 

whispered to Ortheris. 

To walk ’im orf, o* course. When 'e’s been 
checked we alius walks ’im orf. ’E ain’t fit to be 
spoke to those times—nor ’e ain’t fit to leave 
alone neither. So we takes ’im till ’e is.” 

Mulvaney raised his head, and stared straight 
into the sunset. I had my rifle,” said he 
dreamily, an’ I had my baynit, an’ Mullins 
came round the corner, an’ he looked in my face 
an’ grinned dishpiteful, ^ You can’t blow youi 
own nose,’ sez he. Now, I cannot tell fwhat 
Mullins’s expayrlence may ha’ been, but. Mother 
av God, he was nearer to his death that minut’ 
than I have iver been to mine—and that’s less 
than the thicknuss av a hair ! ” 

Yes,” said Ortheris calmly, you’d look fine 
with all your buttons took orf, an’ the Band in 
front o’ you, walkin’ roun’ slow time. We’re 
both front-rank men, me au’ Jock, when the rig’* 


BLACK JACK. 


I31 

mentis in 'ollow square. Bloomin* fine you’d 
look. ^ The Lord giveth an’ the Lord taheth 
away,—Heasy with that there drop !—Blessed be 
the naime o’ the Lord.’ ” He gulped in a quaint, 
and suggestive fashion. 

Mullins ! Wot’s Mullins ? ” said Learoyd 
slowly. Ail’d take a coomp’ny o’ Mullinses— 
ma hand behind me. Sitha, Mulvaney, dunnot 
be a fool.” 

‘‘ You were not checked for fwhat you did not 
do, an’ made a mock av afther. ’Twas for less 
than that the Tyrone wud ha’ sent O’Hara to hell, 
instid av lettin’ him go by his own choosin’, whin 
Rafferty shot him,” retorted Mulvaney. 

“ And who stopped the Tyrone from doing 
it ? ” I asked. 

That ould fool who’s sorry he didn’t stick the 
pig Mullins.” His head dropped again. When 
he raised it he shivered and put his hands on the 
shoulders of his two companions. 

Ye’ve walked the Divil out av me bhoys,” 
said he. 

Ortherls shot out the red-hot dottel of his pipe 
on the back of the hairy fist. They say ’ElFs 


132 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


’otter than that/’ said he, as Mulvaney swore 
aloud. You be warned, so. Look yonder ! ’’— 
he pointed across the river to a ruined temple— 
Me an’ you an’ ’im ”—he indicated me by a 
jerk of his head—was there one day when Hi 
made a bloomin’ show o’ myself. You an’ ’im 
stopped me doin’ such—an’ Hi was on’y wishful 
for to desert. You are makin a bigger bloomin’ 
show o’ yourself now.” 

Don’t mind him, Mulvaney,” I said; Dinah 
Shadd won’t let you hang yourself yet awhile, 
and you don’t intend to try it either. Let’s hear 
about the Tyrone and O’Hara. Rafferty shot 
him for fooling with his wife. What happened 
before that ? ” 

There’s no fool like an ould fool. You know 
you can do anythin’ wid me whin I’m talkin’. 
Did I say I wud like to cut Mullins’s liver out ? 
I deny the imputashin, for fear that Orth’ris here 
wud report me—Ah ! You wud tip me into the 
river, wud you ? Sit quiet, little man. Any¬ 
ways, Mullins is not worth the trouble av an 
extry p’rade, an’ I will trate him wid outrajis 
contimpt. The Tyrone an’ O’Hara! O’Hara 


BLACK JACK. 


133 

an’ the Tyrone, begad! Ould days are hard to 
bring back into the mouth, but they’re always 
Inside the head.” 

Followed a long pause. 

O’Hara was a Divil. Though I saved him, 
for the honor av the rig’mint, from his death that 
time, I say it now. He was a Divil—a long, 
bould, black-haired Divil.” 

Which way ? ” asked Ortheris. 

Women.” 

Then I know another.” 

Not more than in reason, if you mane me, ye 
warped walkin’-shtick. I have been young, an"' 
for why should I not have tuk what I cud ? 
Did I iver, whin I was Corp’ril, use the rise av 
my rank^—wan step an’ that taken away, more’s 
the sorrow an’ the fault av me !—to prosecute a 
nefarious inthrigue, as O’Hara did ? Did I, 
whin I was Corp’ril, lay my spite upon a man an’ 
make his life a dog’s life from day to day? Did 
I lie, as O’Hara lied, till the young wans in the 
Tyrone turned white wid the fear av the Judg¬ 
ment av God killin’ thim all in a lump, as ut 
killed the woman at Devizes ? I did not! I 


134 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


have sinned my sins an’ I have made my confes* 
shin, an’ Father Victor knows the worst av me. 
O’Hara was tuk, before he cud spake, on RafPer- 
ty’s doorstep, an’ no man knows the worst ?? v him. 
But this much I know ! 

The Tyrone was recruited any fashion in the 
ould days. A draf’ from Connemara—a draf’ 
from Portsmouth—a draf’ from Kerry, an’ that 
was a blazin’ bad draf’—here, there and ivery- 
where—but the large av thim was Oirish—black 
Oirish. Now there are Oirish an’ Oirish. The 
good are good as the best, but the bad are wurrst 
than the wurrst. ’Tis this way. They clog to¬ 
gether in pieces as fast as thieves, an’ no wan 
knows fwhat they will do till wan turns informer 
an’ the gang is bruk. But ut begins again, a 
day later, meetin’ in holes an’ corners an’ swear- 
in’ bloody oaths an’ shtickin’ a man in the back 
an’ runnin’ away, an’ thin waitin’ for the blood- 
money on the reward papers—to see if ut’s worth 
enough. Those are the Black Oirish, an’ ’tis 
they that bring dishgrace upon the name a\ 
Oireland, an’ thim I wud kill—as I nearly killed 
wan wanst. 


BLACK JACK. 


J35 


But to reshume. My room—’twas before I 
was married—was wid twelve av the scum av the 
earth—the pickin’s av the gutter—mane men 
that wud neither laugh nor talk nor yet get 
dhrunk as a man shud. They thried some av 
their dog’s thricks on me, but I dhrew a line 
round my cot, an’ the man that thransgressed ut 
wint into hospital for tliree days good. 

O’Hara had put his spite on the room—he 
was my Color Sargint—an’ nothin’ cud we do to 
plaze him. I was younger than I am now, an’ I 
tuk what I got in the way av dressing down and 
punishment-dhrill wid my tongue in my cheek. 
But it was diff’rint wid the others, an’ why I can¬ 
not say, excipt that some men arc horrun mane 
an’ go to dhirty murdher where a fist is more 
than enough. Afther a whoile, they changed 
their chune to me an’ was desp’rit frien’ly—all 
twelve av thim cursin’ O’Hara in chorus. 

^ Eyah,’ sez I, ^ O’Hara’s a divil and I’m not 
for denyin’ ut, but is he the only man in the 
wurriild ? Let him go. He’ll get tired av find- 
in’ our kit foul an’ our ’couterments onproperly 


136 SOLDIERS THREE. 

will noi let him go/ sez they. 

^ Thin take him/ sez I, ^ an’ a dashed poor 
yield you will get for your throuble.’ 

“ ^ Is he not misconductin’ himself wid Slimmy’s 
wife ? ’ sez another. 

She’s common to the rig’mint/ sez L 
*Fwhathas made ye this partic’lar on a suddint?' 

^ Has he not put his spite on the roomful av 
us ? Can we do anythin’ that he will not check 
us for ? ’ sez another. 

^ That’s thrue/ sez L 

^ Will ye not help us to do aught/sez another 
a big bould man like you ? ’ 

^ I will break his head upon his shouldhers 
av he puts hand on me/ sez 1. ^ I will give him 

the lie av he says that I’m dhirty, an’ I wud not 
mind duckin’ him in the Artillery troughs if ut 
was not that I’m thryin’ for my shtripes.’ 

^ Is that all ye will do ? ’ sez another. ‘ Have 
ye no more spunk than that, ye blood-dhrawn 
calf?’ 

^ Blood-dhrawn I may be/ says I, gettin’ back 
to my cot an’ makin’ my line round ut; ^ but ye 
know that the man who comes acrost this mark 


BLACK JACK. 137 

will be more blood-dhrawn than me. No man 
gives me the name in my mouth/ I sez. ^ Onder- 
sthand, I will have no part wid you in anythin’ 
ye do, nor will I raise my fist to my shuperior. 
Is any wan cornin’ on ? ’ sez I. 

They made no move, tho’ I gave thim full 
time, but stud growlin’ an’ snarlin’ together at 
wan ind av the room. I tuck up my cap andwint 
out to Canteen, thinkin’ no little av mesilf, an’ 
there I grew most ondacintly dhrunk in my legs. 
My head was all reasonable. 

^ Houligan,’ I sez to a man in E Comp’ny 
that was by way av bein’ a frind av mine; ^ I’m 

overtuli from the belt down. Do you give me 
the touch av your shoulther to presarve my 
formation an’ march me acrost the ground into 
the high grass. I’ll sleep ut off there,’ sez I; 
an’ Houligan—he’s dead now, but good he was 
while he lasted—^walked wid me, givin’ me the 
touch whin I wint wide, ontil we came to the 
high grass, an’, my faith, the sky an’ the earth 
was fair rowlin’ undher me. I made for where 
the grass was thickust, an’ there I slep’ off my 
liquor wid an easy conscience. I did not desire 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


138 

to come on books too frequint; my character 
havin’ been shpotless for the good half av a 
year. 

“ Whin I roused, the dhrink was dyin’ out in 
me, an’ I felt as though a she-cat had littered in 
my mouth. I had not learned to hould my 
liquor wid comfort in thim days. ’Tis little 
betther I am now. ^ I will get Houligan to pour 
a bucket over my head,’ thinks I, an’ wud ha’ risen, 
but I heard some wan say:—^ Mulvaney can take 
the blame av ut for the backslidin’ hound he is.’ 

^ Oho ! ’ sez I, an’ my head rang like a guard- 
room gong: ^ f what is the blame that this young 
man must take to oblige Tim V ulmea ? ’ For 
’twas Tim Yulmea that shpoke. 

I turned on my belly an’ crawled through 
the grass, a bit at a time, to where the spache 
came from. There was the twelve av my room 
sittin’ down in a little patch, the dhry grass 
wavin’ above their heads an’ the sin av black 
murdher in their hearts. I put the stuff aside 
to get clear view. 

^ Fwhat’s that ? ’ sez wan man, jumpin’ up. 

‘ A dog,’ says Yulmea. ^ You’re a nice hand 


BLACK JACK. 


139 

to this job! As I said, Mulvaney will take the 
blame—av ut comes to a pinch.’ 

^ ’Tis hand to swear a man’s life away,’ sez a 
young wan. 

^ Thank ye for that,’ thinks 1. ^ Now, fwhat 

the divil are you paragins conthrivin’ against me ? ’ 

^ ’Tis as easy as dhrinkin’ your quart,’ sez 
Vulmea. ‘ At seven or thereon, O’Hara will 
come acrost to the Married Quarters, goin’ to call 
on Slimmy’s wife, the swine! Wan av us’ll pass 
the wurrd to the room an’ we shtart the divil an’ 
all av a shine—laughin’ an’ crakin’ on an’ t’row- 
in’ our boots about. Thin O’Hara will come to 
give us the ordher to be quiet, the more by token 
bekaze the room-lamp will be knocked over in the 
larkin’. He will take the straight road to the ind 
door where there’s the lamp in the verandah, an’ 
that’ll bring him clear against the light as he 
sthands. He will not be able to look into the 
dhark. Wan av us will loose off, an’ a close shot 
ut will be, an’ shame to the man that misses. 
’Twill be Mulvaney’s rifle, she that is at the head 
av the rack—there’s no mistakin’ that long 
shtocked, cross-eyed bitch even in the dhark.’ 


140 SOLDIERS THREE. 

The thief misnamed my ould firin'-piece out 
av jealousy—I was pershuaded av that—an' ut 
made me more angry than all. 

But Vulmea goes on :—^ O’Hara will dhrop, 
an’ by tlie time the light’s lit again, there’ll be 
some six av us on the chest av Mulvaney, cryin’ 
murdher an’ rape. Mulvaney’s cot is near the 
ind door, an’ the shmokin’ rifle will be lyin’ und 
her him whin we’ve knocked him over. We 
know, an’ all the rig’mint knows, that Mulvaney 
has given O’Hara more lip than any man av us. 
Will there be any doubt at the Coort-Martial ? 
Wud twelve honust sodger-bhoys swear away 
th^^ life av a dear, quiet, swate-timpered man such 
as is Mulvaney—wid his line av pipe-clay roun’ 
iiis cot, threatenin’ us wid murdher av we over- 
shtepped ut, as we can truthful testify ? ’ 

^ Mary, Mother av Mercy ! ’ thinks I to mesilf; 
‘ it is this to have an unruly mimber an’ fistes fit 
to use ! 0 the sneakin’ hounds ! ’ 

‘‘ The big dhrops ran down my face, for I was 
wake wid the liquor an’ had not the full av my 
wits about me. I laid shtill an’ heard thim work- 
in’ themselves up to swear my life by tellin’ tales 


BLACK JACK. 


I41 

an ivry time I had put mj mark on wan or am 
other ; an’ mj faith, they was few that was not 
so dishtinguished. ’Twas all in the way av fail 
fight though, for niver did I raise my hand excipt 
whin they had provoked me to ut. 

^ ’Tis all well,’ sez wan av thim, ^ but who’s 
to do this shootin’ ? ’ 

^ Fwhat matther ?’ sez Yulmea. ‘ ’Tis Mul- 
vaney will do that— at the Coort-Martial.’ 

^ He will so,’ sez the man, ^ but whose hand 
is put to the trigger —in the room f ’ 

Who’ll do ut ? ’ sez Yulmea, lookin’ round, 
but divil a man answered. They began to dish- 
pute till Kiss, that was always playin’ Shpoil Five, 
sez :—^ Thry the kyards ! ’ Wid that he opined 
his jackut an’ tuk out the greasy palammers, an’ 
they all fell in wid the notion. 

^ Deal on I ’ sez Yulmea, wid a big rattlin’ 
oath, ^ an’ the Black Curse av Shielygh come to 
the man that will not do his duty as the kyards 
say. Amin I ’ 

^ Black Jack is the masther,’ sez Kiss, dealin’. 
Black Jack, Sorr, I shud expaytiate to you, is the 
Ace av Shpades which from time immimorial has 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


142 

been intimately connected wid battle, murdber an' 
suddin death. 

Wanst Kiss dealt an’ there was no sign, but 
the men was whoite wid the workin’s av their 
sowls. Twice Kiss dealt, an’ there was a gray 
shine on their cheeks like the mess av an egg. 
Three times Kiss dealt an’ they was blue; ^ Have 
ye not lost him ? ’ sez Yulmea, wipin’ the sweat 
on him; ^ Let’s ha’ done quick ! ’ ^ Quick ut is,’ 

sez Kiss t’rowin’ him the kyard; an’ ut fell face 
up on his knee—Black Jack 1 

Thin they all cackled wid laughin’. ‘ Duty 
thrippence,’ sez wan av thim, ‘ an’ damned cheap 
at that price! ’ But I cud see they all dhrew a 
little away from Vulmea an’ lef’ him sittin’ play¬ 
in’ wid the kyard. Vulmea sez no word for a 
whoile but licked his lips—cat-ways. Thin he 
threw up his head an’ made the men swear by 
ivry oath known an’ unknown to stand by him not 
alone in the room but at the Coort-Martial that 
was to set on me ! He tould off five av the big¬ 
gest to stretch me on my cot whin the shot was 
fired, an’ another man he tould off to put out the 
light, an’ yet another to load my rifle. He wud 


BLACK JACK. I43 

not do that himself; an* tliat was qiiare^ for *twas 
but a little thing. 

Thin they swore over again that they wud 
not bethray wan another, an* crep’ out av the 
grass in diff *rint ways, two by two. A mercy ut 
was that they did not come on me. I was sick 
wid fear in the pit av my stummick—sick, sick, 
sick ! Afther they was all gone, I wint back to 
Canteen an* called for a quart to put a thought 
in me. Vulmea was there, dhrinkin’ heavy, an* 
politeful to me beyond reason. Fwhat will I do— 
fwhat will I do ? * thinks I to mesilf whin Vulmea 
wint away. 

‘‘ Presintly the Arm’rer Sargint comes in stiffin’ 
an’ crackin’ on, not pleased wid any wan, bekaze 
the Martini Henri bein’ new to the rig’mint in 
those days we used to play the mischief wid her 
arrangemints. ’Twas a long time before I cud 
get out av the way av thryin’ to pull back the 
back-sight an’ turnin’ her over afther firin’—as if 
she was a Snider. 

^ Fwhat tailor-men do they give me to work 
wid ? ’ sez the Arm’rer Sargint. ^ Here’s Hogan, 
his nose flat as a table, laid by for a week, an’ 


144 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


ivry Comp’ny sendin* their arrums in knocked to 
small shivreens.’ 

^ Fwhat’s wrong wid Hogan, Sargint ? ’ sez I. 

Wrong!’ sez the Arm’rer Sargint;^! 
showed him, as though I had been his mother, 
the way av shtrippin’ a ’Tini, an’ he shtrup her 
plain an’ easy. I tould him to put her to again 
an’ fire a blank into the blow-pit to show how the 
dirt hung on the groovin’. He did that, but he 
did not put in the pin av the fallin’-biock, an’ 
av coorse whin he fired he was strook by the block 
jumpin’ clear. Well for him ’twas but a blank 
—a full charge wud ha’ cut his oi out.’ 

I looked a trifle wiser than a boiled sheep’s 
head. ^ How’s that, Sargint ? ’ sez I. 

^ This way, ye blundherin’ man, an’ don’t you 
be doin’ ut,’ sez he. Wid that he shows me a 
Waster action—the breech av her all cut away to 
show the inside—an’ so plazed was he to grumble 
that he dimonstrated fwhat Hogan had done 
twice over. An’ that comes av not knowin’ the 
wepping you’re purvided wid,’ sez he. 

^ Thank ye, Sargint,’ sez I, ^ I will come to 
you again for further information.’ 


BLACK JACK. 


145 

^ Ye will not,’ sez he. ^ Kape your clanin’- 
rod away from the breech-pin or you mil get into 
throuble.’ 

1 wint outside an’ I could ha’ danced wid 
delight for the grandeur av ut. ^ They will load 
my rifle, good luck to thim, whoile I’m away,’ 
thinks I, and back I wint to the Canteen to give 
them their clear chanst. 

The Canteen was fillin’ wid men at the ind 
av the day. I made feign to be far gone in 
dhrink, an’, wan by wan, all my roomful came in 
wid Vulmea. I wint away, walkin’ thick an* 
heavy, but not so thick an’ heavy that any wan 
cud ha’ tuk me. Sure and thrue, there was 
a kyartridge gone from my pouch an’ lyin’ snug 
in my rifle. I was hot wid rage against thim 
all, and I worried the bullet out wid my teeth 
as fast as I cud, the room beiu’ empty. Then I 
tuk my boot un’ the clanin’-rod and knocked 
out the pin av the fallin’-block. Oh, ’twas music 
when that pin rowled on the flure! I put ut 
into my pouch an’ stuck a dab av dirt on the holes 
in the plate, puttin’ the fallin’-block back. 
^ That’ll do your business, Vulmea,’ sez I, lyin’ 

lO 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


146 

easy on the cot. ^ Come an’ sit on my chest 
the whole room av you, an’ I will take you to my 
bosom for the biggest divils that iver cheated 
halter.’ I wud have no mercy onVulmea. His 
oi or his life—little I cared ! 

At dusk they came back, the twelve av thim, 
an^ they had all been dhrinkinh I wasshammin’ 
sleep on the cot. Wan man wint outside in the 
veranda. Whin he whishtled they began to rage 
roun^ the room an^ carry on tremenjus. But 1 
niver want to hear men laugh as they did— 
skylarkin’ too ! ’Twas like mad jackals. 

^ Shtop that blasted noise ! ’ sez O’Hara in 
the dark, an’ pop goes the room lamp. I cud 
hear O’Hara runnin’ up an’ the rattlin’ av my 
rifle in the rack an’ the men breathin’ heavy as 
they stud roun’ my cot. I cud see O’Hara in the 
light av the veranda lamp, an’ thin I heard the 
crack av my rifle. She cried loud, poor darlint, 
bein’ mishandled. Next minut’ five men were 
houldin’ me down ^ Go easy,’ I sez; ^ fwhat’s 
ut all about ? ’ 

Thin Vulmea, on the flure, raised a howl you 
cud hear from wan ind of cantonmints to the otJier 


BLACK JACK. 1 47 

^ Fm dead, I’m butchered, I’m blind! ’ sez he. 
‘ Saints have mercy on my sinful sowl 1 Sind for 
Father Constant! Oh, sind for Father Constant 
an’ let me go clean ! ’ By that I knew he was 
not so dead as I cud ha’ wished. 

O’Hara picks up the lamp in the veranda wid 
a hand as stiddy as a rest. ^ Fwhat damned dog’s 
thrick is this av yours ? ’ sez he, and turns the 
light on Tim Vulmea that was shwimmin’ in 
blood from top to toe. The fallin’-block had 
sprung free behiii’ a full charge av powther— 
good care I tuk to bite down the brass afther 
takin’ out the bullet that there might be somethin’ 
to give ut full worth—an’ had cut Tim from the 
lip to the corner av the right eye, lavin’ the eye¬ 
lid in tatthers, an’ so up an’ along by the fore¬ 
head to the hair. ’Twas more av a rakin’ plough, 
if you will ondherstand, than a clean cut; an’ 
niver did I see a man bleed as Vulmea did. The 
dhrink an’ the stew that he was in pumped the 
blood strong. The minut’ the men sittin’ on my 
chest heard O’Hara spakin’ they scatthered each 
wan to his cot an’ cried out very politeful: ‘ Fwhat 
is ut, Sargint ? ’ 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


148 

^ Fwhat is ut! ’ sez O’Hara, shakin* Tim. 
^ Well an’ good do you know fwhat ut is, ye 
skulkin’ ditch-lurkin’ dogs! Get a doolie, an’ 
take this whimperin’ scutt away. There will be 
more heard av ut than any av you will care for.’ 

Vulmea sat up rockin’ his head in his hand 
an’ moaning’ for Father Constant. 

^ Be done ! ’ sez O’Hara, dhraggin’ him up 
by the hair. ^ You’re none so dead that you 
cannot go fifteen years for thryin’ to shoot me.’ 

^ I did not,’ sez Vulmea ; ^ I was shootin’ 
mesilf.’ 

^ That’s quare,’ sez O’Hara, ^ for the front av 
my jackut is black wid your powther.’ He tuk 
up the rifle that was still warm an’ began to 
laugh. ^ I’ll make your life Hell to you,’ sez he, 
^ for attempted murdher an’ kapin’ your rifle on- 
properly. You’ll be hanged first an’ thin put 
undher stoppages for four fifteen. The rifle’s 
done for,’ sez he. 

« Why, ’tis my rifle ! ’ sez 1, cornin’ up to 
look; ^ Vulmea, ye divil, fwhat were you doin’ 
wid her—answer me that ? ’ 

^ Lave me alone,” sez Vulmea; ^I’m dyin’ 1 * 


BLACK JACK. I49 

^ I’ll wait till you’re bettlier/ sez I, ^ an’ thin 
we two will talk ut out umbrao'eous.’ 

O’Hara pitched Tim into the doolie, none too 
tinder^ but all the bh )ys kep’ by their cots, which 
W'as not the sign av innocint men. I was huntin’ 
ivrywhere for my fallin’-block, but not findin’ ut 
at all. I niver found ut. 

“ ^ Noid fwhat will I do ? ’ sez O’Hara, swing¬ 
ing the veranda light in his hand an’ lookin’ 
down the room. I had hate and contimpt av 
O’Hara an’ I have now, dead tho’ he is, but, for 
all that, will I say he was a brave man. He is 
baskin’ in Purgathory this tide, but I wish he cud 
hear that, whin he stud lookin’ down the room 
an’ the bhoys shivered before the oi av him, I 
knew him for a brave man an’ I liked him 
so, 

‘ Fwhat will I do ? ’ sez O’Hara agin, an’ we 
heard the voice av a woman low an’ sof’ in the 
veranda, ’Twas Slimmy’s wife, come over at the 
shot, sittin’ on wan av the benches an’ scarce 
able to walk. 

^ Oh, Denny—Denny, dear,’ sez she, ^ have 
they kilt you ? ' 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


150 

‘^O’Hara looked down the room again an* 
showed his teeth to the gum. Then he spat on 
the flure. 

^ You’re not worth ut/ sez he. ‘Light that 
lamp, ye dogs,’ an’ wid that he turned away, an* 
I saw him walkin’ off wid Slimmy’s wife; she 
thryin’ to wipe off the powther-black on the front 
av his jackut wid her handkerchief. ‘ A brave 
man you are,’ thinks I—‘ a brave man an’ a bad 
woman.’ 

“No wan said a word for a time. They was 
all ashamed, past spache. 

“ ‘ Fwhat d’you think he will do ? ’ sez wan av 
thim at last. ‘ He knows we’re all in ut.’ 

“ ‘ Are we so ? ’ sez I from my cot. ‘ The man 
that sez that to me will be hurt. I do not know,’ 
sez I, ‘ fwhat onderhand divilmint you have con- 
thrived, but by what I’ve seen I know that you 
cannot commit murdher wid another man’s rifle 
—such shakin’ cowards you are. I’m goin’ to 
slape,’ I sez, ‘an’ you can blow my head off 
whoile I lay.’ I did not slape, though, for a 
long time. Can ye wonder? 

“ Next morn the news was through all the rig’- 


BLACK JACK. 15 I 

mint, an’ there was nothin’ that the men did not 
tell. O’Hara reports, fair an’ easy, that Yulmea 
was to come to grief through tamperin’ wid his 
rifle in barricks, all for to show the mechanism. 
An’ by my sowl, he had the impart’nince to say 
that he was on the shpot at the time an’ cud cer¬ 
tify that lit was an accident! You might ha’ 
knocked my roomful down wid a straw whin they 
heard that. ’Twas lucky for thim that the bhoys 
were always thryin’ to find out how the new 
rifle was made, an’ a lot av thim had come up for 
easin’ the pull by shtickin’ bits av grass an’ such 
in the part av the lock that showed near the 
thrio'pfer. The first issues of the ’Tinis was not 
covered in, an’ I mesilf have eased the pull av 
mine time an’ agin. A light pull is ten points on 
the range to me. 

‘ I will not have this foolishness! ’ sez the 
Colonel. will twist the tail off Vulmea ! ’ sez 
he ; but whin he saw him, all tied up an’ groanin’ 
in hospital, he changed his will. ^ Make him 
an early convalescint,’ sez he to the Doctor, an’ 
V ulmea was made so for warnin’. His big bloody 
bandages an’ face puckered up to wan side did 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


152 

more to kape the bhoys from messin' wid the 
insides av their rifles than any punishmint. 

O’Hara gave no reason for fwhat he’d said, 
an’ all my roomful were too glad to inquire, tho’ 
he put his spite upon thim more wearin’ than 
before. Wan day, howiver, he tuk me apart 
very polite, for he cud be that at the choosin^ 

^ You’re a good sodger,tho’ you’re a damned 
insolint man,’ sez he. 

^ Fair words, Sargint,’ sez I, ^ or I may be 
insolent again.’ 

^ ’Tis not like you,’ sez he, ^ to lave your rifle 
in the rack widout the breech-pin, for widout the 
breech-pin she wos whin Vulmea fired. I should 
ha’ found the break av ut in the eyes av the 
holes, else,’ he sez. 

^ Sargint,’ sez I, ^ fwhat wud your life ha’ 
been worth av the breech-pin had been in place, 
for, on my sowl, my life wud be worth just as 
much to me av I tould you whether ut was or was 
not. Be thankful the bullet was not there,’ I sez. 

‘ That’s thrue,’ sez he, pulling his mustache ; 
^ but I do not believe that you, for all your lip 
was in that business/ 


BLACK JACK. 


153 

^ Sargint/ sez I, ^ I cud hammer the life out 
av a man in ten minuts wid my fist es if that man 
dishpleased me; for I am a good sodger, an' 1 
will be threated as such, an’ whoile my fistes are 
my own they’re strong enough for all work I have 
to do. They do not fly back towards me !’ sez 
I, lookin’ him betune the eyes. 

^ You’re a good man,’ sez he, lookin’ me 
betune the eyes—an’ oh, he was a gran’-built man 
to see—^ you’re a good man,’ he sez, ^ an’ I cud 
wish, for the pure frolic av ut, that I was not a 
Sargint, or that you were not a Privit; an’ you 
will think me no coward whin I say this thing.’ 

“ ^ I do not,’ sez I. ^ I saw you whin Vulmea 
mishandled the rifle. But, Sargint,’ I sez, ^ take 
the wurrd from me now, spakin’ as man to man 
wid the shtripes off, tho’ ’tis little right I have to 
talk, me bein’ fwhat I am by natur’. This time 
ye tuk no harm, an’ next time ye may not, but, 
in the ind, so sure as Slimmy’s wife came into 
the veranda, so sure will ye take harm—an’ bad 
harm. Have thought, Sargint,’ sez I. ^ Is ut 
worth ut ? ’ 

‘ Ye’re a bould man,’ sez he, breathin’ 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


154 

hand. ^ A very bould man. But I am a bould 
man tu. Do you go your way, Privit Mulvaney, 
an’ I Avill go mine.’ 

We had no further spache thin or afther, 
but, wan by another, he drafted the twelve av 
my room out into other rooms an’ got thim spread 
among the Comp’nies, for they was not a good 
breed to live together, an’ the Comp’ny orf’cers 
saw ut. They wud ha’ shot me in the night av they 
had known fwhat I knew; but that they did not. 

An’, in the ind, as I said, O’Hara met his 
death from Rafferty for foolin’ wid his wife. He 
wint his own way too well—Eyah, too well! 
Shtraight to that affair, widout turnin’ to the 
right or to the lef’, he wint, an’ may the Lord 
have mercy on his sowl. Amin 1 ” 

’Ear 1 ’Ear I ” said Ortheris, pointing the 
moral with a wave of his pipe. An’ this is ’irn 
’oo would be a bloomin’ Vulmea all for the sakv« 
of Mullins an’ a bloomin’ button ! Mullins never 
went after a woman in his life. Mrs. Mullins, she 
saw ’im one day—’’ 

Ortheris,” I said, hastily, for the romances of 
Private Ortheris are slightly too daring for pub- 


BLACK JACK. 1 55 

lication, ^Hook at the sun. It’s a quarter-past 
six! ” 

Oh, Lord! Three quarters of an hour for 
five an’ a ’arf miles 1 We’ll ’ave to run like Jim¬ 
my 0.’’ 

The Three Musketeers clambered on to the 
bridge, and departed hastily in the direction of 
the cantonment road. When I overtook them I 
oft'ered them two stirrups and a tail, which they 
accepted enthusiastically. Ortheris held the tail, 
and in this manner we trotted steadily through 
the shadows by an unfrequented road. 

At the turn into the cantonments we heard car¬ 
riage wheels. It was the Colonel’s barouche, and 
in it sat the Colonel’s wife an’ daughter. I 
caught a suppressed chuckle, and my beast sprang 
forward with a lighter step. 

The Three Musketeers had vanished into the 
night. _ 

L’ENVOI. 

And they were stronger hands than mine 
That digged the Ruby from the earth— 
More cunning brains that made it worth 



156 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


The large desire of a King; 

And bolder hearts that through the brine 
Went down the Perfect Pearl to bring. 

Lo, I have wrought in common clay 

Rude figures of a rough-hewn race: 
For Pearls strew not the market-plao<# 
In this my town of banishment, 

Where with the shifting dust I play 
And eat the bread of Discontent. 

Yet is there life in that I make,— 

Oh, Thou who knowest, turn and see. 
As Thou hast power over me, 

So have I power over these. 

Because 1 wrought them for Thy sake, 
And breathed in them mine agonies. 

Small mirth was in the making. Now 
I lift the cloth that cloaks the clay, 
And, wearied, at Thy feet I lay 
My wares ere I go forth to sell. 

The long bazar will praise—but Thou— 
Heart of my heart, have I done well ? 


ONLY A SUBALTERN, 


157 


ONLY A SUBALTERN. 


.... Not only to enforce by command but to encourage by 
example the energetic discharge of duty and the steady en¬ 
durance of the difficulties and privations inseparable from 
Military Service .—Bengal Army Regulations. 

They made Bobby Wick pass an examination 
at Sandhurst. He was a gentleman before he 
was gazetted, so, when the Empress announced 
that Gentleman-Cadet Robert Hanna Wick 
was posted as Second Lieutenant to the Tyneside 
Tail Twisters at Krab Bokhar, he became an 
officer and a gentleman, which is an enviable 
thing; and there was joy in the house of Wick 
where Mamma Wick and all the little Wicks fell 
upon their knees and offered incense to Bobby 
by virtue of his achievements. 

Papa Wick had been a Commissioner in nig 
day, holding authority over three millions of men 
in the Chota-Buldana Division, building great 



SOLDIERS THREE. 


158 

works for the good of the land, and doing his 
best to make two blades of grass grow wdiere 
there was but one before. Of course, nobody 
knew anything about this in the little English 
village where he was just ^^old Mr. Yfick” and 
had forgotten that he was a Companion of the 
Order of the Star of India. 

He patted Bobby on the shoulder and said 
Well done, my boy ! ” 

There followed, while the uniform was being 
prepared, an interval of pure delight, during 
which Bobby took brevet-rank as a man ” at the 
women-swamped tennis parties and tea-fights of 
the village, and, I dare say, had his joining-time 
been extended, would have fallen in love with 
several girls at once. Little country villages at 
Home are very full of nice girls, because all the 
young men come out here to make their fortunes. 

^^India,^’ said Papa Wick, is the place. IVe 
had thirty years of it, and, begad, I’d like to go 
back again. When you join the Tail Twisters 
you’ll be among friends, if every one hasn’t 
forgotten Wick of Chota-Buldana, and a lot of 
people wiU be kind to you for our sakes. The 


ONLY A SUBALTERN. 


159 

mother will tell you more about outfit than I can; 
but remember this: Stick to your Regiment, 
Bobby—stick to your Regiment. You’ll see men 
all round you going into the Staff Corps, and do¬ 
ing every possible sort of duty but regimental, 
and you may be tempted to follow suit. Now so 
long as you keep within your allowance, and 1 
haven’t stinted you there, stick to the Line—the 
whole Line and nothing but the Line. Be care¬ 
ful how you back another young fool’s bill, and 
if you fall in love with a woman twenty years 
older than yourself, don’t tell me about it, that’s 
all.” 

With these counsels, and many others equally 
valuable, did Papa Wick fortify Bobby ere that 
last awful night at Portsmouth when the Officers’ 
Quarters held more inmates than were provided 
for by the Regulations, and the liberty-men of 
the ships fell foul of the drafts for India, and the 
battle raged long and loud from the Dockyard 
Gates even to the slums of Longport, while the 
drabs of Fratton came down and scratched the 
faces of the Queen’s Officers. 

Bobby Wick, with an ugly bruise on his 


l60 SOLDIERS THREE. 

freckled nose, a sick and shaky detachment to 
maneuver in-ship and the comfort of fifty scorn¬ 
ful females to attend to, had no time to feel 
home-sick till the Malabar reached mid-Channel, 
when he combined his emotions with a little 
guard-visiting and a great deal of nausea. 

The Tail Twisters were a most particular Regi¬ 
ment. Those who knew them least said that they 
were eaten up with side.’’ But their reserve 
and their internal arrangements generally were 
merely protective diplomacy. Some five years 
before, the colonel commanding, had looked into 
the fourteen fearless eyes of seven plump and 
juicy subalterns who had all applied to enter the 
Staff Corps, and had asked them why the three 
stars should he, a colonel of the Line, command 
a dashed nursery for double-dashed bottle-suckers 
who put on condemned tin spurs and rode quali¬ 
fied mokes at the hiatused heads of forsaken 
Black Regiments. He was a rude man and a 
terrible. Wherefore the remnant took measures 
[with the half-butt as an engine of public opin¬ 
ion] till the rumor went abroad that young men 
who used the Tail Twisters as a crutch to the 


ONLY A SUBALTERN. l6l 

Staff Corps had many and varied trials to endure. 
However, a regiment had just as much right to 
its own secrets as a woman. 

When Bobby came up from Deolali and took 
his place among the Tail Twisters, it was gently 
but firmly borne in upon him that the Regiment 
was his father and his mother and his indissolubly 
wedded wife, and that there was no crime under 
the canopy of heaven blacker than that of bring¬ 
ing shame on the Regiment, which was the best¬ 
shooting, best-drilled, best set-up, bravest, most 
illustrious, and in all respects most desirable 
Regiment within the compass of the Seven Seas. 
He was taught the legends of the Mess Plate, 
from the great grinning Golden Gods that had 
come out of the Summer Palace in Pekin, to the 
silver mounted markhor-horn snuff-mull presented 
by the last C. 0. [he who spake to the seven sub¬ 
alterns]. And every one of those legends told 
him of battles fought at long odds, without fear 
as without support; of hospitality catholic as an 
Arab’s ; of friendships deep as the sea and steady 
as tlie fighting-line ; of honor won by hard roads 
for honor’s sake; and of instant and unquestion 


i62 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


ing devotion to the Regiment—the Regiment 
that claims the lives of all and lives forever. 

More than once, too, he came officially into 
contact with the Regimental colors, which looked 
like the lining of a bricklayer’s hat on the end of 
a chewed stick. Bobby did not kneel and woi- 
ship them, because British Subalterns are not 
constructed in that manner. Indeed, he con¬ 
demned them for their weight at the very moment 
that they were filling with awe and other more 
noble sentiments. 

But best of all was the occasion when he moved 
with the Tail Twisters in review order at the 
breaking of a November day. Allowing for duty- 
men and sick, the Regiment was one thousand 
and eighty strong, and Bobby belonged to them; 
for was he not a Subaltern of the Line— the whole 
Line and nothing but the Line—as the tramp of 
two thousand one hundred and sixty sturdy am¬ 
munition boots attested? He would not have 
changed places with Deighton of the Horse 
Battery, whirling by in a pillar of cloud to a 
chorus of Strong right! Strong left! or 
Hogan-Yale of the White Hussars, leading his 


ONLY A SUBALTERN. 163 

squadron for all it was worth, with the price of 
horseshoes thrown in; or “ Tick” Boileau,trying 
to live up to his fierce blue and gold turban, 
while the wasps of the Bengal Cavalry stretched 
to a gallop in the wake of the long, lollopping 
Walers of the White Hussars. 

They fought through the clear cool day, and 
Bobby felt a little thrill run down his spine when 
he heard the tinkle-tinlde-tinMe of the empty 
cartridge-cases hopping from the breech-blocks 
after the roar of the volleys; for he knew that 
he should live to hear that sound in action. The 
review ended in a glorious chase across the plain— 
batteries thundering after cavalry to the huge 
disgust of the White Hussars, and the Tyneside 
Tail Twisters hunting a Sikh Regiment, till the 
lean lathy Singhs panted with exhaustion. Bobby 
was dusty and dripping long before noon, but his 
enthusiasm was merely focussed—not diminished. 

He returned to sit at the feet of Revere, his 

skipper,” that is to say, the Captain of his Com¬ 
pany, and to be instructed in the dark art and 
mystery of managing men, which is a very large 
part of the Profession of Arms. 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


164 

If you haven’t a taste that way/’ said Re^ 
vere between his puffs of his cheroot, you’ll 
never be able to get the hang of it, but remem' 
ber, Bobby, ’t isn’t the best drill, though drill is 
nearly everything, that hauls a Regiment through 
Hell and out on the other side. It’s the man 
who knows how to handle men—goat-men, swine- 
men, dog-men, and so on.” 

Dormer, for instance,” said Bobby, I think 
he comes under the head of fool-men. He mopes 
like a sick owl.” 

‘‘ That’s where you make your mistake, my 
son. Dormer isn’t a fool yet, but he’s a daslied 
dirty soldier, and his room corporal makes fuii of 
his socks before kit-inspection. Dormer, being 
two-thirds pure brute, goes into a corner and 

“ How do you know ? ” said Bobby admiringly. 

“ Because a Company commander has to know 
these things—because, if he does not know, he 
may have crime—aye, murder—brewing under Ins 
very nose and yet not see that it’s there. Dormer 
is being badgered out of his mind—big as he is 
—and he hasn’t intellect enough to resent it. He’s 



ONLY A SUBALTERN. 165 

taken to quiet boozing. Bobby, when the butt 
of a room goes on the drink, or takes to moping 
by himself, measures are necessary to yank him 
out of himself.” 

What measures ? ’Man can’t run round 
coddling his men forever.” 

^^No. The men would precious soon show 
him that he was not wanted. You’ve got to—” 
Here the color-sergeant entered with some 
papers; Bobby reflected for a while as Bevere 
looked through the Company forms. 

Does Dormer do anything, Sergeant ? ” 
Bobby asked with the air of one continuing an 
interrupted conversation. 

No, sir. Does ’is dooty like a hortomato,” 
said the Sergeant, who delighted in long words. 

dirty soldier, and ’e’s under full stoppages 
for new kit. It’s covered with scales, sir.” 

Scales ? What scales ? ” 

‘^^Fish-scales, sir. ’E’s always pokin’ in the 
mud by the river an’ a-cleanin’ them mwcA/y-fish 
with ’is thumbs.” Revere was still absorbed in 
the Company papers, and the Sergeant, who was 
grimly fond of Bobby, continued,—’E gener 


166 bOLDIERS THREE. 

ally goes down there when ’e’s got ’is skinful^ 
beggin’ your pardon, sir, an* they do say that the 
more lush—in-Ae-briated ’e is, the more fish *e 
catches. They call ’im the Looney Fishmonger 
in the Comp’ny, sir.” 

Revere signed the last paper and the Sergeant 
retreated. 

^^It’s a filthy amusement,” sighed Bobby to 
himself. Then aloud to Revere,—Are you 
really worried about Dormer ? ” 

A little. You see he’s never mad enough to 
send to hospital, or drunk enough to run in, but 
at any minute he may flare up, brooding and 
sulking as he does. He resents any interest be¬ 
ing shown in him, and the only time I took him 
out shooting he all but shot me by accident.” 

I fish,” said Bobby with a wry face. I 
hire a country-boat and go down the river from 
Thursday to Sunday, and the amiable Dormer 
goes with me—if you can spare us both.” 

You blazing young fool! ” said Revere, but 
his heart was full of much more pleasant words. 

Bobby, the Captain of a dhoniy with Private 
Dormer for mate, dropped down the river on 



ONLY A SUBALTERN. 167 

Thursday morning—the private at the bow, the 
Subaltern at the helm. The Private glared un¬ 
easily at the Subaltern, who respected the reserve 
of the Private. 

After six hours, Dormer paced to the stern, sa¬ 
luted, and said:—Beg y’ pardon, sir, but was 
you ever on the Durham Canal ? ” 

No,’’ said Bobby Wick. Come and have 
some tiffin.” 

They ate in silence. As the evening fell, Pri¬ 
vate Dormer broke forth, speaking to himself :—- 

^^Hi was on the Durh’m Canal, jes’ such a 
night, come next week twelve month, a-trailin’ of 
my toes in the water.’’ He smoked and said no 
more till bedtime. 

The witchery of the dawn turned the gray 
river-reaches to purple, gold, and opal; and it 
was as though the lumbering dhoni crept across 
the splendor of a new heaven. 

Private Dormer popped his head out of his 
blanket and gazed at the glory below and around. 

Well—damn—my eyes ! ” said Private Dor¬ 
mer in an awed whisper. This ’ere is like a 
bloomin’ gallantry-show 1 ” For the rest of the 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


168 

day he was dumb, but achieved an ensanguined 
filthiness through the cleaning of big fish. 

The boat returned on Saturday evening. Do]> 
mer had been struggling with speech since noon. 
As the lines and luggage were being disembarked, 
he found tongue. 

Beg y’ pardon, sir,” he said, but would 
you—would you min’ shakin’ ’ands with me 
sir?” 

Of course not,” said Bobby, and he shook 
accordingly. Dormer returned to barracks, and 
Bobby to mess. 

He wanted a little quiet and some fishing, I 
think,” said Bobby. My aunt, but he’s a filthy 
sort of animal! Have you ever seen him clean 
^ them m^^c^??/-fish with ’is thumbs ’ ? ” 

Anyhow,” said Revere three weeks later, he’s 
doing his best to keep his things clean.” 

When the spring died, Bobby joined in the 
general scramble for Hill leave, and to his surprise 
and delight secured three months. 

As good a boy as I want,” said Revere, the 
admiring skipper. 

The best of the batch,” said the Adjutant to 



ONLY A SUBALTERN. 


i6g 

the Colonelo ^^Keep back that young skrim- 
shanker Porkiss, sir, and let Kevere make him sit 
up.” 

So Bobby departed joyously to Simla Pahar 
with a tin box of gorgeous raiment. 

^^’Son of Wick—old Wick of Chota-Buldana ? 
Ask him‘ to dinner, dear ” said the aged 
man. 

What a nice boy ! ” said the matrons and the 
maids. 

First-class place, Simla. Oh, ri—ipping ! ” 
said Bobby Wick, and ordered new cord breeches 
on the strength of it. 

We’re in a bad way,’’ wrote Revere to Bobby 
at the end of two months. Since you left, the 
Regiment has taken to fever and is fairly rotten 
with it—two hundred in hospital, about a hun¬ 
dred in cells—drinking to keep off fever—and 
the Companies on parade fifteen file strong at the 
outside. There’s rather more sickness in the out- 
villages than I care for, but then I’m so blistered 
with prickly-heat that I’m ready to hang myself. 
What’s the yarn about your mashing a Miss 
Haverley up there? Not serious, I hope? 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


170 

You’re over-young to hang millstones round your 
neckj and the Colonel will turf you out of that in 
double-quick time if you attempt it.” 

It was not the Colonel that brought Bobby out 
of Simla, but a much more to be respected Com¬ 
mandant. The sickness in the out-villages spread, 
the Bazar was put out of bounds, and then came 
the news that the Tail Twisters must go into 
camp. The message flashed to the Hill stations: 
—cholera—Leave stopped—Ofiicers recalled.” 
Alas, for the white gloves in the neatly soldered 
boxes ,the rides and the dances and picnics that 
were to be, the love half spoken, and the debt 
unpaid ! Without demur and without question, 
fast as tonga could fly or pony gallop, back to 
their Regiments and their Batteries, as though 
they were hastening to their weddings, fled the 
subalterns. 

Bobby received his mandate on returning from 
a dance at Viceregal Lodge where he had . . . 
but only the Haverley girl knows what Bobby had 
said or how many waltzes he had claimed for the 
next ball. Six in the morning saw Bobby at the 
Tonga Office in the drenching rain, the whirl of the 


ONLY A SUBALTERN. Ijl 

last waltz still in his ears, and an intoxication due 
neither to wine nor waltzing in his brain. 

Good man ! ” shouted Deighton of the Horse 
Battery through the mists. Whar you raise dat 
tonga ? I’m coming with you. Ow! But iVe 
a head and a half. 1 didn’t sit out all night. 
They say the Battery’s awful bad/’ and he 
hummed dolorously:— 

‘‘ Leave the what at the what’s-its-name, 

Leave the flock without shelter. 

Leave the corpse uninterred, ^ 

Leave the bride at the altar! 

My faith ! It’ll be more bally corpse than 
bride, though, this journey. Jump in, Bobby. 
Chalo Coachwan ! ” 

On the Umballa platform waited a detachment 
of officers discussing the latest news from the 
stricken cantonment, and it was here that Bobby 
learned the real condition of the Tail Twisters. 

They went into camp,’’ said an elderly Major 
recalled from the whist-tables at Mussoorie to a 
sickly Native Regiment, they went into camp 
with two hundred and ten sick in carts. Two 
hundred and ten fever cases only, and the balance 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


172 

looking like so many ghosts with sore eyes. A 
Madras Regiment could have walked through ’em.” 

But they were as fit as be-dammed when T 
left them ! ” said Bobby. 

Then you’d better make them as fit as be- 
damned when you rejoin/’ said the Major brutally. 

Bobby pressed his forehead against the rain- 
splashed window pane as the train lumbered across 
the sodden Doab, and prayed for the health of the 
Tyneside Tail Twisters. Naini Tal had sent down 
her contingent with all speed; the lathering ponies 
of the Dalhousie Road staggered into Pathankot, 
taxed to the full stretch of their strength ; while 
from cloudy Darjiling the Calcutta Mail whirled 
up the last straggler of the little army that was to 
fight^ a fight in which was neither medal nor honor 
for the winning, against an enemy none other than 
the sickness that destroyeth in the noonday.” 

And as each man reported himself, he said:— 
“ This is a bad business,” and went about his 
own forthwith, for every Regiment and Battery 
in the cantonment was under canvas, the sickness 
bearing them companj 

Bobby fought his way through the rain to the 


ONLY A SUBALTERN. 


173 

Tail Twisters’ temporary mess^ and Revere could 
have fallen on the boy's neck for the joy of seeing 
that ugly, wholesome phiz once more. 

Keep’em amused and interested,” said Revere, 
^^They went on the drink, poor fools, after the 
first two cases, and there was no improvement. 
Oh, it’s good to have you back, Bobby ! Porkiss 
is a—never mind.” 

Deighton came over from the Artillery camp to 
attend a dreary mess dinner, and contributed to 
the general gloom by nearly weeping over the 
condition of his beloved Battery. Porkiss so far 
forgot himself as to insinuate that the presence 
of the officers could do no earthly good, and that 
the best thing would be to send the entire Regi¬ 
ment into hospital and let the doctors look 
after them.” Porkiss was demoralized with fear, 
nor was his peace of mind restored when Revere 
said coldly :— 

Oh! The sooner you go out the better, if 
that’s your way of thinking. Any public school 
could send us fifty good men in your place, but 
it takes time, time, Porkiss, and money, and a 
certain amount of trouble, to make a Regiment. 


174 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


^S’pose you're the person we go into camp for, 
eh?” 

Whereupon Porkiss was overtaken with a great 
and chiliy fear which a drenching in the rain did 
not allay, and two days later, quitted this world for 
another where, men do fondly hope, allowances 
are made for the weaknesses of the flesh. The 
Regimental Sergeant-Major looked wearily across 
the Sergeants’ Mess tent when the news was 
announced. 

There goes the worst of them,’^ he said. 

It’ll take the best, and then, please God, it’ll 
stop.” The Sergeants were silent till one said: 
—It couldn^t be him I ’’ and all knew of whom 
Travis was thinking. 

Bobby Wick stormed through the tents of his 
Company, rallying, rehuldng, mildly, as is con¬ 
sistent with the Regulations, chaffing the faint¬ 
hearted ; haling the sound into the watery sun¬ 
light when there was a break in the weather, and 
bidding them be of good cheer, for their trouble 
was nearly at an end; scuttling on his dun pony 
round the outskirts of the samp and heading 
back men who, with the innate perversity of 


ONLY A SUBALTERN. 175 

British soldiers, were always wandering into in¬ 
fected villages, or drinking deeply from rain- 
flooded marshes; comforting the panic-stricken 
with rude speech, and more than once tending the 
dying who had no friends—the men without 
townies organizing, with banjos and burnt 
cork. Sing-songs which should allow the talent 
of the Regiment full play; and generally, as he 
explained, playing the giddy garden goat ail 
round.’^ 

You’re worth half a dozen of us, Bobby,” 
said his skipper in a moment of enthusiasm. 
How the devil do you keep it up ? ” 

Bobby made no answer, but had Revere looked 
into the breast-pocket of his coat he might have 
seen there a sheaf of badly written letters which 
perhaps accounted for the power that possessed 
the boy. A letter came to Bobby every other 
day. The spelling was not above reproach, but 
the sentiments must have been most satisfactory, 
for on receipt Bobby’s eyes softened marvelously, 
and he w^as wont to fall into a tender abstraction 
for a while ere, shaking his cropped head, he 
charged into his work anew. 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


176 

By what power he drew after him the hearts 
of the roughest, and the Tail Twisters counted 
in their rants some rough diamonds indeed, was 
a mystery to both skipper and C. 0., who learned 
from the regimental chaplain that Bobby was 
considerably more in request in the hospital tents 
than the Reverend John Emery. 

The men seem fond of you. Are you in the 
hospitals much ? ” said the Colonel, who did his 
daily round and ordered the men to get well with 
a grimness that did not cover his bitter grief. 

A little, sir,^’ said Bobby. 

’Shouldn’t go there too often if I were you. 
They say it’s not contagious, but there’s no use 
in running unnecessary risks. We canT afford 
to have you down, y’ know.^’ 

Six days later, it was with the utmost difficulty 
that the post-runner plashed his way out to camp 
with the mail-bags, for the rain was falling in 
torrents. Bobby receded a letter, bore it off to 
his tent, and, the program for the next week’s 
Sing-song being satisfactorily disposed of, sat 
down to answer it. For an hour the unhandy 
pen toiled over the paper, and where sentiment 


ONLY A SUBALTERN. 


177 

rose to more than normal tide-level, Bobby Wick 
stuck out his tongue and breathed heavily. He 
was not used to letter-writing. 

Beg y’ pardon, sir,’’ said a voice at the tent 
doqr; but Dormer’s ’orrid bad, sir, an’ they’ve 
taken him orf, sir.” 

Damn Private Dormer and you too 1 ” said 
Bobby Wick, running the blotter over the 
half-finished letter. Tell him I’ll come in the 
morning.” 

’E’s awful bad, sir,” said the voice hesitating¬ 
ly. There was an undecided squelching of heavy 
boots. 

Well?” said Bobby impatiently. 

Excusin’ ’imself before’and for takin’ the 
liberty, ’e says it would be a comfort for to assist 
’im, sir, if—” 

Tattoo lao I Here, come in out of the rain 
till I’m ready What blasted nuisances you are ! 
That’s brandy. Drink some. You want it. 
Hang on to my stirrup and tell me if I go too 
fast.” 

Strengthened by a four-finger nip ” whicli 
be absorbed without a wink, the Hospital Orderly 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


178 

kept up with the slipping, mud-stained, and very 
disgusted pony as it shambled to the hospital 
tent. 

Private Dormer was certainly “ ^orrid bad.” 
He had all but reached the stage of collapse and 
was not pleasant to look upon. 

What’s this. Dormer ? ” said Bobby, bending 
over the man. You’re not going out this time. 

You’ve got to come fishing with me once or 
twice more yet.” 

The blue lips parted and in the ghost of a 
whisper said,—Beg y’ pardon, sir, disturbin’ of 
you now, but would you min’ ’oldin’ my ’and, sir?” 

Bobby sat on the side of the bed, and the icy 
cold hand closed on his own like a vise, forcing a 
lady’s ring which was on the little finger deep in¬ 
to the flesh. Bobby set his lips and waited, the 
water dripping from the hem of his trousers. An 
hour passed and the grasp of the hand did not 
relax, nor did the expression of the drawn fac« 
change. Bobby with infinite craft lit himself a 
cheroot with the left hand, his right arm was 
numbed to the elbow, and resigned himself to a 
night of pain. 


ONLY A SUBALTERN. 


179 

Dawn showed a very white-faced Subaltern sit¬ 
ting on the side of a sick man’s cot, and a Doctor 
in the doorway using language unfit for publi¬ 
cation. 

Have you been here all night, you young ass ? ” 
said the doctor. 

There or thereabouts,” said Bobby ruefully. 

He’s frozen on to me. ” 

Dormer’s mouth shut with a click. He turned 
his head and sighed. The clinging hand opened 
and Bobby’s arm fell useless at his side. 

He’ll do,” said the Doctor quietly. It 
must have been a toss-up all through the night. 
'Think you’re to be congratulated on this 
case.” 

Oh, bosh! ” said Bobby. I thought the 
man had gone out long ago—only—only I didn’t 
care to take my hand away. Rub my arm down, 
there’s a good chap. What a grip the brute has! 
I’m chilled to the marrow! ” He passed out of 
the tent shivering. 

Private Dormer was allowed to celebrate his re¬ 
pulse of Death by strong waters. Four days later, 
he sat on the side of his cot and said to the patients 


l8o SOLDIERS THREE. 

mildly:—Td ’a’ liken to ’a’ spoken to ’im—so 
I should.” 

But at that time Bobby was reading yet another 
letter—he had the most persistent correspondent 
of any man in camp—and was even then about to 
write that the sickness had abated, and in another 
week at the outside would be gone. He did not 
intend to say that the chill of a sick man’s hand 
seemed to have struck into the heart whose ca¬ 
pacities for affection he dwelt on at such length. 
He did intend to enclose the illustrated program 
of the forthcoming Sing-song whereof he was not 
a little proud. He also intended to write on many 
other matters which do not concern us, and doubt¬ 
less would have done so but for the slight feverish 
headache which made him dull and unresponsive 
at mess. 

You are overdoing it, Bobby,” said his skip¬ 
per ; ’might give the rest of us credit of doing 
a little work. You go on as if you were the whole 
mess rolled into one. Take it easy.” 

1 will,” said Bobby. I^m feeling done up 
somehow.” Bevere looked at him anxiously and 
said nothing. 


ONLY A SUBALTERN. l8l 

There was a flickering of lanterns about the 
camp that night, and a rumor that brought men 
out of their cots to the tent doors, a paddling of 
the naked feet of doolie-bearers and the rush of a 
galloping horse 

Wot’s up ? ’’ asked twenty tents; and through 
twenty tents ran the answer—Wick, ’e’s down.’^ 

They brought the news to Revere and he 
groaned. Any one but Bobby and I shouldn’t 
have cared ! The Sergeant-Major was right.” 

Not going out this journey,” gasped Bobby, 
as he was lifted from the doolie. N ot going out 
this journey.” Then with an air of supreme con¬ 
viction 1 can ’you see.” 

Not if I can do anything! ” said the Surgeon- 
Major, who had hastened over from the mess where 
he had been dining. 

He and the Regimental Surgeon fought together 
with Death for the life of Bobby Wick. Their 
ministrations were interrupted by a hairy appari¬ 
tion in a blue-gray dressing-gown who stared in 
round-eyed horror at the bed and cried :—Ow 
my Gawd! It can’t be ’im ! ” until an indignant 
Hospital Orderly whisked him away. 


i 82 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


If care of man and desire to live coidd have 
done aught, Bobby would have been saved. As 
it was, he made a fight of three days, and the Sur¬ 
geon-Major’s brow uncreased. We’ll save him 
yet,” he said; and the Surgeon, who, though 
he ranked with the Captain, had a very youthful 
heart, went out upon the word and pranced joy¬ 
ously in the mud. 

Not going out this journey,” whispered Bobby 
Wick gallantly, at the end of the third day. 

Bravo !” said the Surgeon-Major. That’s 
the way to look at it, Bobby.” 

As evening fell a gray shade gathered round 
Bobby’s mouth, and he turned his face to the tent 
wall wearily. The Surgeon-Major frowned. 

I’m awfully tired,” said Bobby, very faintly. 

What’s the use of bothering me with medicine ? 
I—don’t—want—it. Let me alone.” 

The desire for life had departed, and Bobby 
was content to drift away on the easy tide of 
Death. 

It’s no good,” said the Surgeon-Major. He 
doesn’t want to live. He’s meeting it, poor child.” 
And he blew his nose. 


ONLY A SUBALTERN. 


183 

Half a mile away, the regimental band was 
playing the overture to the Sing-song, for the 
men had been told that Bobby was out of danger. 
The clash of the brass and the wail of the horns 
reached Bobby’s ears. 

“ Is there a single joy or pain, 

That I should never kno—ow ? 

You do not love me, ’tis in vain. 

Bid me good-by and go ! ” 

' An expression of hopeless irritation crossed the 
boy^s face, and he tried to shake his head. 

The Surgeon-Major bent down :—What is it, 
Bobby?” Not that waltz,” muttered Bobby. 

That’s our own—our very ownest own . . . 
Mummy dear.” 

With this oracular sentence he sank into the 
stupor that gave place to death early next morning. 

Revere, his eyes red at the rims and his nose 
very white, went into Bobby’s tent to write a 
letter to Papa Wick which should bow the white 
head of the ex-Commissioner of Chota-Buldana 
in the keenest sorrow of his life. Bobby’s little 
store of papers lay in confusion on the table, and 
amons: them a half-finished letter. The last sen- 

o 

tence ran;—So you see. darling, there is really 


SOLDIERS THREE. 


184 

no fear, because as long as I know you care for 
me and I care for you, nothing can touch me.” 

Revere stayed in the tent for an hour. When 
he came out, his eyes were redder than ever. 


Private Conklin sat on a turned-down bucket, 
and listened to a not unfamiliar tune. Private 
Conklin was a convalescent and should have been 
tenderly treated. 

Ho 1 ” said Private Conklin. There's an¬ 
other bloomin^ orf’cer da—ed.” 

The bucket shot from under him, and his eyes 
filled with a smithyful of sparks. A tall man in 
a blue-gray bed-gown was regarding him with 
deep disfavor. 

^^You ought to take shame for yourself, 
Conky ! Orf’cer ?—Bloomin’ orf’cer ? I’ll learn 
you to misname the likes of ’im. Hangel! 
Bloomin'* Hangel! That’s wot ’e is! ” 

And the Hospital Orderly was so satisfied with 
the justice of the punishment that he did not 
even order Private Dormer back to his cot. 


IN BLACK AND WHITE 


BY 


EUDYARD KIPLING. 


I 


% 


THE DEDICATION, 


To My Most Deare Father,—When I was in 
your House and we went abroade together, in the 
outskirtes of the Citie, among the Gen too Wrest- 
lours, you had poynted me how in all Empryzes 
he gooing forth flang backe alwaies a Word to 
hym that had instruct hym in his Crafte to the 
better Sneckynge of a Victorie or at the leaste the 
auoidance of anie greate Defeate : And presentlie 
each man wolde run to his Ystad (which is as we 
shoulde say Master) and geat such as he deserued 
of Admoneshment, Reprouf and Council, coii- 
cernynge the Gripp, the Houlde, Cross-buttock 
and Fall, and then lay to afreshe. 

In lyke maner I, drawynge back a lytel, from 
this my Rabble and Encompasment of Labour, 
have runn asyde to you who were euer my Vftnd 
and Speake as it were in your priuie Eare [yet 
that others may knowe] that if I have here done 



i88 


THE DEDICATION. 


aught of Faire Crafte and Reverentiall it is come 
from your hande as trewly [but by i. Degree re- 
uouen] as though it had been the coperture of 
chys Booke that you haue made for me in loue. 
How may I here tell of that Tender Diligence 
which in my wauerynge and inconstante viages was 
in all tymes about me to showe the Passions and 
Occasions, Shifts, Humours, and Sports that in 
due proporcion combinate haue bred that Rare 
and Terrible Mystery the which, for lacke of a 
more compleat Venderstandinge, the Worlde 
has cauled Man : aswel the maner in which you 
shoulde goo about to pourtraie the same, a lytel at 
a tyme in Feare and Decencie. By what hand, 
when I wolde have dabbled a Greene and unvesed 
Pen in all Earthe Pleauen and Hell, bicause of 
the pitiful Confidence of Youthe, was I bounde 
in and restrict to wayte tyl I coulde in some sort 
discerne from the Shadowe, that is not by any 
peynes to be toucht, the small Kernel and Sub¬ 
stance that mighte conforme to the sclenderness of 
ny Capacitie. All thys and other Council (that, 
though I dyd then not folio we, Tyme hath since 
sadlie proiien trewe) is my unpayable Debt to you 


THE DEDICATION. 


189 

(most deare Father) and for marhe I have set 
asyde for you, if you will take it, thys my thirde 
Booke. The more thys and no other sense it is 
of common knowledge that Men do rather esteem 
a Pebble gathered under the Burnynge Lyne (or - 
anie place that they haue gone farr to travel in) 
then the Paue-way of theyr owne Citie, though 
that may be the better wrought. Yoiti Charitie 
and the large Tenderness that I haue nowhere 
founde sense I haue gone from your House shall 
look upon it fauorably and ouerpass the Blemyshes, 
Spottes, Foul Crafte, and Maculations that do as 
throughly marke it as anie Toil of Me. None 
the less it is sett presomptuously before that 
Wilde Beaste the Publick which, though when 
aparte and one by one examined is but compost 
of such meere Men and Women as you in theyr 
outwarde form peynt and I would fayne peynt in 
theyr inwarde workynges, yet in totalitie, is a 
Great and thanklesse God (like unto Dagon) 
upon whose Altars a man must offer of his Beste 
alone or the Priestes (which they caul Reuiewers) 
pack him emptie awai. If I faile in thys Seruyce 
you shall take me asjde and giue me more In* 


190 


THE DEDICATION. 


struction, which is but the olde Counsel unre* 
guarded and agayne made playne : As our Vstads 
take hym whose Nose is rubben in the dyrte and 
speak in hys Eare. But thys I knowe, that if I 
fail or if I gest my Wage from the God aforesayd ; 
and thus dance perpetually before that Altar 
till He be wearyed, the Wisdom that made in my 
Vse, when I was neere to listen, and the Sweep 
and Swing temperate of the Pen that, when I was 
afarr, gaue me alwaies and untyryng the most 
delectable Tillage of that Wisdom shall neuer be 
laokynge to me in Lyfe. 

And though I am more rich herein than the 
richest, my present Pouertie can but make return 
in thys lytel Booke which your owne Toil has 
nobilitated beyon the deferuynge of 4.he Writer 
your Son, 


INTRODUCTION 


BY KADIB BAKSH, KHITMATGAH, 


Hazur, —Through your favor this is a book 
written by my Sahib. I know that he wrote it, 
because it was his custom to write far into the 
night; I greatly desiring to go to my house. But 
there was no order : therefore it was my fate to 
sit without the door until the work was accom¬ 
plished. Then came I and made shut all the 
papers in the office-box, and these papers, by the 
peculiar operation of Time, and owing to the skil¬ 
ful manner in which I picked them up from the 
floor, became such a book as you now see. God 
alone knows what is written therein, for I am a 
poor man and the Sahib is my father and my 
mother, and I have no concern with his writings 
until he has left his table and gone to bed. 

Nabi Baksh, clerk, says that it is a book about 



192 


INTRODUCTION. 


the black men—common people. This is a man¬ 
ifest lie, for by what road can my Sahib have 
acquired knowledge of the common people? 
Have I not, for several years, been perpetually 
with the Sahib : and throughout that time have I 
not stood between him and the other servants 
who would persecute him with complaints or vex 
him with idle tales about my work ? Did I not 
smite Dun no, the groom only yesterday in the 
matter of the bad ness of the harness composition 
which I had procured ? I am the head of the 
Sahib’s house-hold and hold his purse. Without 
me he does not know where are his rupees or his 
clean collars. So great is my power over the 
Sahib and the love that he bears to me ! Have 1 
ever told the Sahib aboiitt he custums of servants 
or black men ? Am I a fool ? I have said very 
good talk ” upon all occasions, I have always 
cut smooth his wristbands with scissors, and 
timely warned him of the passing away of his 
tobacco that he might not be left smokeless up¬ 
on a Sunday. More than this I have not done. 
The Sahib cannot go out to dinner lacking my 
aid. How then should he know aught that I 


INTRODUCTION. I93 

did not tell him ? Certainly Nabi Baksh is a 
liar. 

None the less this is a book, and the Sahib 
wrote it, for his name is in it, and it is not his 
washing-book. Now, such is the wisdom of the 
Sahib-log, that, upon opening this thing, they 
will instantly discover the purport. Yet I would 
of their favor beg them to observe how correct is 
the order of the pages, which 1 have counted, 
from the first to the last. Thus, One is followed 
by Two and Two by three, and so forw^ard to the 
end of the book. Even as I picked the pages one 
by one with great trouble from the floor, when 
the Sahib had gone to bed, so have they been 
placed: and there is not a fault in the whole 
account. And this is my work. It was a great 
burden, but I accomplished it; and if the Sahib 
gains honor by that which he has writen—and 
God knows what he is always writting about—^I, 
Kadir Baksh, his servant, also have a claim to 
honor. 


I > 


f 




9 


I 




.0 


I 






CONTENTS 

PAOB 

Dray Wara Yow Dee. 197 

The Judgment oi Dungara. 210 

At Howli Thana. 233 

Gemini. 24J> 

At Twenty-T\ro. 260 

In Flood Time.282 

The Sending of Dana Da.801 

The City WaU. 821 


\ 










I 


% 


DRAY WARA YOW DEE. 


'* For jealousy is the rage of a man : therefore he will not 
spare in the day of vengeance.”— Prov. vii. 34. 

Almonds and raisins, Sahib ? Grapes from 
Cabul ? Or a pony of the rarest if the Sahib will 
only come with me. He is thirteen three, Sahib, 
plays polo, goes in a cart, carries a lady and— 
Holy Kurshed and the Blessed Imams, it is the 
Sahib himself 1 My heart is made fat and my 
eye glad. May you never be tired 1 As is cold 
water in the Tirah, so is the sight of a friend in 
a far place. And what do you in this accursed 
land ? South of Delhi, Sahib, you know the say- 
ino’—Rats are the men and trulls the women.’* 

O 

It was an order ? Ahoo 1 An order is an order 
till one is strong enough to disobey. 0 my 
brother, 0 my friend, we have met in an auspi¬ 
cious hour I Is all well in the heart and the body 
and the house ? In a lucky day have we two 
come together 


1^7 




IN BLACK AND WHITE. 


198 

I am to go with you ? Your favor is great. 
Will there be picket-room in the compound ? I 
have three horses and the bundles and the horse¬ 
boy. Moreover, remember that the police here 
hold me a horse-thief. W hat do these Lowland 
bastards know of horse-thieves ? Do you remem¬ 
ber that tune in Peshawur when Kamal ham¬ 
mered on the gates of Jumrud—mountebank that 
he was-—and lifted the Colonel’s horses all in one 
night ? Kamal is dead now, but his nephew has 
taken up the matter, and there will be more horses 
a-missing if the Khaiber Levies do not look to it. 

The Peace of God and the favor of his Prophet 
be upon this house and all that is in it! Shafiz- 
uUah, rope the mottled mare under the tree and 
draw water. The horses can stand in the sun, 
but double the felts over the loins. Nay, my 
friend, do not trouble to look them over. They 
are to sell to the Officer fools who know so many 
things of the horse. The mare is heavy in foal; 
the gray is a devil unlicked; and the dun—but 
you know the trick of the peg. When they are 
sold I go back to Pubbi, or, it may be, the Valley 
of Peshawur. 


DRAY WARA YOW DEE. 


199 


0 friend of my heart, it is good to see you 
again. I have been bowing and lying all day to 
the OfScer-Sahibs in respect to those horses; and 
my mauth is dry for straight talk. Auggrh! 
Before a meal tobacco is good. Do not join me, 
for we are not in our own country. Sit in the 
veranda and I will spread my cloth here. But 
first I will drink. In the name of God return¬ 
ing thanks^ thrice ! This is sweet water, indeed 
—sweet as the water of Sheoran when it vjomes 
from the snows. 

They are all well and pleased in the North— 
Khoda Baksh and the others. Yar Khan has 
come down with the horses from Kurdistan—six- 
and-thirty head only, and a full half pack-ponies 
—and has said openly in the Kashmir Serai that 
you English should send guns and blow the Amir 
into Hell. There are fifteen tolls now on the 
Kabul road ; and at Dakka, when he thought he 
was clear, Yar Khan was stripped of all his Balkh 
stallions by the Governor ! This is a great in¬ 
justice, and Yar Khan is hot with rage. And of 
the others: Mahbub Ali is still at Pubbi, writing 
God knows what. Tugluq Khan is in jail for the 


200 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

business of the Koliat Police Post. Faiz Beg 
came down from Ismail-ki-Dhera with a Bokhariot 
belt for thee, my brother, at the closing of the year, 
but none knew whither thou hadst gone : there 
was no news left behind. The Cousins have 
taken a new run near Pakpat-tan to breed mules 
£or the Government carts, and there is a story 
in Bazar of a priest. Oho 1 Such a salt tale ! 
Listen. . . . 

Sahib, why do you ask that ? My clothes are 
fouled because of the dust on the road. My eyes 
are sad because of tho glare of the sun. My feet 
are swollen because I have washed them in bitter 
water, and my cheeks are hollow because the food 
here is bad. Fire burn your money 1 What do 
I want with it ? I am rich and I thought you 
were my friend ; but you are like the others—a 
Sahib. Is a man sad ? Give him money, say 
the Sahibs. Is he dishonored ? Give him money, 
say the Sahibs. Hath he a wrong upon his head? 
Give him money, say the Sahibs. Such are the 
Sahibs, and such art thou—even thou. 

Nay, do not look at the feet of the dun. Pity 
it is that I ever taught you to know the legs of 


DRAY WARA YOW DEE. 


201 


ahorse. Foot-sore? Be it so. What of that? 
The roads are hard. And the mare foot-sore ? 
She bears a double burden, Sahib. 

And now I pray you, give me permission to 
depart. Great favor and honor has the Sahib 
done me, and graciously has he shown his belief 
that the horses are stolen. Will it please him to 
send me to the Thana ? To call a sweeper and have 
me led away by one of these lizard-men ? I am the 
Sahib’s friend. I have drunk water in the shadow 
of his house, and he has blackened my face. 
Remains there anything more to do? Will the 
Sahib give me eight annas to make smooth the 
injury and—complete the insult ? . . . . 

Forgive me, my brother. I knew not—I know 
not now—what I say. Yes, I lied to you! I 
will put dust on my head—and I am an Afridi 1 
The horses have been marched foot-sore from the 
Valley to this place, and my eyes are dim, my 
body aches for the want of sleep, and my heart is 
dried up with sorrow and shame. But, as it was 
my shame, so by God the Dispenser of Justice— 
by Allah-al-Mumit, it shall be my own revenge! 

We have spoken together with naked hearts 



202 


IN BLACK AND WHITE. 


before this, and our hands have dipped into the 
same dish and thou hast been to me as a brother. 
Therefore I pay thee back’with lies and ingrati¬ 
tude ... as a Pathan. Listen now ! When the 
grief of the soul is too heavy for endurance it may 
be a little eased by speech; and, moreover, the mind 
of a true man is as a well, and the pebble of con^ 
fession dropped therein sinks and is no more seen. 
From the Valley have I come on foot, league by 
league with a fire in my chest like fire of the Pit. 
And why ? Hast thou, then, so quickly forgotten 
our customs, among this folk who sell their wives 
and their daughters for silver ? Come back with 
me to the North and be among men once more. 
Come back, when this matter is accomplished and 
I call for thee ! The bloom of the peach-orchards 
is upon all our Yalley, and here is only dust and a 
great stink. There is a pleasant wind among the 
mulberry trees, and the streams are bright with 
snow-water, and the caravans go up and the 
caravans go down, and a hundred fires sparkle in 
the gut of the Pass, and tent-peg answers hammer- 
nose, and pack-horse squeals to pack-horse across 
the drift smoke of the evening. It is good in the 


DRAY WARA YOW DEE. 203 

North now. Come back with me. Let ns return 
to our own people I Cornel 

Whence is my sorrow ? Does a man tear out 
his heart and make fritters thereof over a felow 
fire for ought other than a woman? Do not 
laugh, friend of mine ; for your time will also be. 
A woman of the Abazai was she, and I took her 
to wife to stanch the feud between our village 
and the men of Ghor. I am no longer young. 
The lime has touched my beard. True. I had 
no need of the wedding ? Nay, but I loved her. 

What saith Rahman : Into whose heart Love 
enters, there is Folly and naught else. By a 
glance of her eye she hath blinded thee ; and by 
the eyelids and the fringe of the eyelids taken 
thee into the captivity without ransom* and naught 
elseJ^ Dost thou remember that song at the 
sheep-roasting in the Pindi camp among the 
Uzbegs of the Amir ? 

The Abazai are dogs and their women the 
servants of sin. There was a lover of her own 
people, but of that her father told me naught. 
My friend, curse for me in yonr prayers, as I 


204 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

curse at each praying from the Fakr to the Isha, 
the name of Daoud Shah, Abazai, whose head is 
still upon his neck, whose hands are still upon 
his wrists, who has done me dishonor, who has 
made my name a laughing-stock among the W0“ 
men of Little Malikand. 

I went into Hindustan at the end of two 
months—to Cherat. 1 was gone twelve days 
only ; but I had said that I would be fifteen days 
absent* This I did to try her, for it is written : 
'—Trust not the incapable.” Coming up the 
gorge alone in the falling of the light, I heard 
the voice of a man singing at the door of my 
house ; and it was the voice of Daoud Shah, and 
the song that he sang was Dray war a yow dee 
—all three are one. It was as though a heel-rope 
had been slipped round my heart and all the 
Devils were drawing it tight past endurance. I 
crept silently up the hill-road, but the fuse of my 
matchlock was wetted with the rain, and I could 
not slay Daoud Shah from afar. Moreover, it 
was in my mind to kill the woman also. Thus he 
sang, sitting outside my house, and, anon, the 
Woman opened the door, and I came nearer, crawl- 


DRAY WaRA YOW DEE. 


205 

ing on my belly among the rocks. I had only 
my knife to my hand. But a stone slipped under 
my foot, and the two looked down the hillside 
and he, leaving his matchlock, fled from my angei, 
because he was afraid for the life that was in him. 
But the woman moved not till I stood in front of 
her, crying:—0 woman, what is this that thou 
has done ? ” And she, void of fear, though she 
knew my thought, laughed, saying:—^^It is a 
little thing. I loved him, and thou art a dog and 
cattle-thief coming by night. Strike! ’’ And I, 
being still blinded by her beauty, for, 0 my 
friend, the women of the Abazai are very fair, 
said ;—Hast thou no fear ? ’’ And she am 
swered :—None—but only the fear that I do not 
die.^’ Then said I:—“ Have no fear.” And 
she bowed her head, and I smote it off afc the 
neck-bone so that it leaped between my feet. 
Thereafter the rage of our people came upon me, 
and I hacked off the breasts, that the men of 
Little Malikand might know the crime, and casf 
the body into the water-course that flows to the 
Kabul river. Dray wara yow dee ! Dray wa- 
ra yow dee! The body without the head, the 


2o6 in black Ax\D white. 

soul without light, and my own darkling heart— 
all three are one—all three are one! 

That night, making no halt, I went to Ghor 
and demanded news of Daoud Shah. Men said : 
—‘^He is gone to Pubbi for horses. What 
wouldst thou of him ? There is peace between 
the villages.” I made answer :—Ay ! The 
peace of treachery and the love that the Devil 
Atala bore to Gurel.’’ And I fired thrice into 
the gate and laughed and went my way. 

In those hours, brother and friend of my heart’s 
heart, the moon and the stars were as blood above 
me, and in my mouth was the taste of dry earth. 
Also, I broke no bread, and my drink was the 
rain of the Valley of Ghor upon my face. 

At Pubbi I found Mahbub Ali, the waiter, sit¬ 
ting upon his charpoy and gave up my arms accord¬ 
ing to your Law. But I was not grieved, for it 
was in my heart that I should kill Daoud Shah 
with my bare hands thus—as a man strips a bunch 
of raisins. Mahbub Ali said :—Daoud Shah has 
even now gone hot-foot to Peshawur, and he will 
pick up his horses upon the road to Delhi, for it 
is said that the Bombay Tramway Company are 


DRAY WARA YOW DEE. 207 

buying horses there by the truck-load; eight 
horses to the truck.” And that was a true saying. 

Then I saw that the hunting would be no little 
thing, for the man was gone into your borders to 
save himself against my wrath. And shall he 
save himself so ? Am I not alive ? Though he 
run northward to the Dora and the snow, or 
southerly to the Black Water, I will follow him, 
as a lover follows the footsteps of his mistress, 
and coming upon him I will take him, tenderly— 
Aho! so tenderly!—in my arms, saying : Well 
hast thou done and well shalt thou be repaid.” 
And out of that embrace Daoud Shah shall 
not go forth with the breath in his nostrils. 
Auggrh! Where is the pitcher ? I am as 
thirsty as a mother-mare in the first month. 

Your Law ! What is your Law to me ? When 
the horses fight on the runs do they regard the 
boundary pillars; or do the kites of Ali Musjid 
forbear because the carrion lies under the shadow 
of the Ghor Kuttri ? The matter began across 
the Border. It shall finish where God pleases. 
Here, in my own country, or in Hell. All three 


are one. 


2 o8 


IN BLACK AND WHINE. 


Listen now, sharer of the sorrow of my heart, 
and I will tell of the hunting. I followed to Pe- 
shawur from Pubbi, and I went to and fro about 
the streets of Peshawur like a houseless dog, 
seeking for my enemy. Once I thought that I 
saw him washing his mouth in the conduit in the 
big square, but when I came up he was gone. It 
may be that it was he, and, seeing my face, he 
had fled. 

A girl of the bazar said that he would go to 
Nowshera. I said:—0 heart’s heart, does 
Daoud Shah visit thee ? ” And she said :— 
Even so.” I said :—I would fain see him, for we 
be friends parted for two years. Hide me, I pray, 
here in the shadow of the windoAV shutter, and I 
will wait for his coming.” And the girl said :—• 
0 Pathan, look into my eyes! ” And I turned, 
leaning upon her breast, and looked into her eyes, 
swearing that I spoke the very Truth of God. 
But she answered :—Never friend waited friend 
with such eyes. Lie to God and the Prophet, but 
to a woman ye cannot lie. Get hence ! There 
shall no harm befall Daoud Shah by cause of me.” 
I would have strangled that girl but for the 


DRAY WARA YOW DEE. 209 

fear of your Police; and thus the hunting would 
have come to naught. Therefore I only laughed 
and departed, and she leaned over the window-bar 
in the night and mocked me down the street. 
Her name is Jamun. When I have made my 
account with the man I will return to Peshawur 
and—her lovers shall desire her no more for her 
beauty’s sake. She shall not be Jamun but Aky 
the cripple among trees. Ho ! Ho ! Ak shall 
she be ! 

At Peshawur I bought the horses and grapes, 
and the almonds and dried fruits, that the reason 
of my wanderings might be open to the Govern¬ 
ment, and that there might be no hindrance upon 
the road. But when I came to Nowshera he was 
gone, and I knew not where to go. I stayed one 
day at Nowshera, and in the night a Voice spoke 
in my ears as I slept among the horses. All night 
it flew round my head and would not cease from 
whispering. I was upon my belly, sleeping as 
the Devils sleep, and it may have been that the 
Voice was the voice of a Devil. It said : ^ Go south, 
and thou shalt come upon Daoud Shah.” Listen, 

my brother and chiefest among friends—listen ! 

14 


210 


IN BLACK AND WHITE 


Is the tale a long one ? Think how it was long 
to me. 1 have trodden every league o£ the road 
from Pub hi to this place ; and from Nowshera my 
guide was only the Voice and the lust of venge¬ 
ance. 

To the Uttocki 1 went, but that was no hin¬ 
drance to me. Ho 1 Ho ! A man may turn the 
word twice, even in his trouble. The Uttock was 
no uttock (obstacle) to me; and I heard the Voice 
above the noise of the waters beating on the big 
rock, saying;—Go to the right.’* So I went 
to Pindigheb, and in those days my sleep was 
taken from me utterly, and the head of the woman 
of the Abazai was before me night and day, even 
as it had fallen between my feet. Dray wara 
yow dee ! Dray wara yow dee ! Fire, ashes, 
and my couch, all three are one—all three are one! 

Now 1 was far from the winter path of the 
dealers who had gone to Sialkot and so south by 
the rail and the Big Road to the line of canton¬ 
ments ; but there was a Sahib in camp at Pindi- 
gheb who bought from me a white mare at a good 
price, and told me that one Daoud Shah had 
passed to Shahpur with horses. Then I saw that 


DRAY WARA YOW DEE. 211 

the warning of the Voice was true, and made 
swift to come to the Salt Hills. The Jhelum was 
ill flood, but I could not wait, and, in the cross* 
ing, a bay stallion was washed down and drowned. 
Herein was God hard to me—not in respect of 
the beast, of that I had no care—but in this 
snatching. While I was upon the right bank 
urging the horses into the water, Daoud Shah was 
upon the left; for —Algliias ! Alghias !—hoofs 
of my mare scattered tlie hot ashes of his fires 
when we came up the hither bank in the light of 
morning. But he had fled. His feet were made 
swift by the terror of Death. And I went south 
from Shahpur as the kite flies. I dared not turn 
aside, lest I should miss my vengeance—which is 
my right. From Shahpur I skirted by the Jhe¬ 
lum, for I thought that he would avoid the Desert 
of the Rechna. But, presently, at Sahiwal, I 
turned away upon the road to Jhang, Samundri, 
and Gugera, till, upon a night, the mottled mare 
breasted the fence of the rail that runs to Mont¬ 
gomery. And that place was Okara, and the 
head of the woman of the Abazai lay upon the 
sand between my feet. 


212 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

Thence I went to Fazilka, and they said that } 
was mad to bring starved horses there. The 
Voice was with me, and 1 was not mad, but onl^ 
wearied, because 1 could not find Daoud Shah 
It was written that I should not find him at Kania 
nor Bahadurgarh, and I came into Delhi from 
the west, and there also I found him not. 
friend, I have seen many strange things in mjf 
wanderings. I have seen Devils rioting across 
the Eechna as the stallions riot in spring. I 
have heard the Djinns calling to each other from 
holes in the sand, and I have seen them pass 
before my face. There are no Devils, say the 
Sahibs ? They are very wise, but they do not 
know all things about devils or—horses. Ho 1 
Ho I I say to you who are laughing at my 
misery, that I have seen the Devils at high noon 
(whooping and leaping on the shoals of the Che* 
nab. And was I afraid ? My brother, when the 
desire of a man is set upon one thing alone, he 
fears neither God nor Man nor Devil. If my 
vengeance failed, I would splinter the Gates of 
Paradise with the butt of my gun, or I would cut 
my way into Hell with my knife, and 1 would cah 


DRAY WARA YOW DEE. 


213 


upon Those who Govern there for the body of 
Daoud Shah. What love so deep as hate ? 

Do not speak. I know the thought in your 
heart. Is the white of this eye clouded ? How 
does the blood beat at the wrist ? There is no 
madness in my flesh, but only the vehemence of 
the desire that has eaten me up. Listen! 

South of Delhi I knew not the country at all. 
Therefore 1 cannot say where I went, but I passed 
through many cities. I knew only that it was 
laid upon me to go south. When the horses 
could march no more, I threw myself upon the 
earth, and waited till the day. There was no 
sleep with me in that journeying; and that was a 
heavy burden. Dost thou know, brother of mine, 
the evil.of wakefulness that cannot break—when 
the bones are sore for lack of sleep, and the skin 
of the temples twitch with weariness, and yet - . 
there is no sleep—there is no sleep ? Dray wara 
yow dee ! Dray wara yow dee ! The eye of the 
Sun, the eye of the Moon, and my own unrestful 
eyes—all three are one—all three are one! 

There was a city the name whereof I have 
forgotten, and there the Voice called all night. 


214 


IN BLACK AND WHITE. 


That was ten days ago. It has cheated me 
afresh. 

I have come hither from a place called Hamir- 
pur, and, behold, it is my Fate that I should meet 
with thee to my comfort, and the increase of 
friendship. This is a good omen. By the joy 
of looking upon thy face the weariness has gone 
from my feet, and the sorrow of my so long travel 
is forgotten. Also my heart is peaceful; for I 
know that the end is near. 

It may be that I shall find Daoud Shah in this 
city going northward, since a Hillman will ever 
head back to his Hills when the spring warns. 
And shall he see those hills of our country? 
Surely I shall overtake him! Surely my venge¬ 
ance is safe ! Surely Gcd hath him in the hollow 
of His hand against my claiming. There shall 
no harm befall Daoud Shah till I come; for I 
would fain kill him quick and whole with the life 
sticking in his body. A pomegranate is sweetest 
when the cloves break away unwilling from the 
rind. Let it be in the daytime, that I may see 
his face, and my delight may be crowned. 

And when I have accomplished the matter and 


DRAY WARA YOW DEE. 21S 

my Honor is made clean, I shall return thants 
unto God, the Holder of the Scale of the Law, 
and I shall sleep. From the night, through the 
day, and into the night again I shall sleep; and 
no dream shall trouble me. 

And now, 0 my brother, the tale is all told< 

A hi I Ahi I Alghias / Ahi / 


2i6 


IN BLACK AND WHITE. 


THE JUDGMENT OF DUNGARA, 


“See the pale martyr with his shirt on fire.”-PWwfer** 
Error. 

They tell the tale even now among the sell 
groves o£ the Berbnlda Hill, and for corrobora¬ 
tion point to the roofless and windowless Mission- 
house. The great God Dungara, the God of 
Things as They Are, Most Terrible, One-Eyed, 
Bearing the Red Elephant Tusk, did it all; and 
he who refuses to believe in Dungara will assur¬ 
edly be smitten by the Madness of Yat—the mad¬ 
ness that fell upon the sons and the daughters of 
the Buria Kol when they turned aside from Dun¬ 
gara and put on clothes. So says Athon Daz4 
who is High Priest of the shrine and Warden of the 
Red Elephant Tusk. But if you ask the Assistant 
Collector and Agent in Charge of the Buria Kol, 
he will laugh—not because he bears any malice 
against missions, but because he himself saw the 



THE JUDGMENT OF DUNGARA. 2 \^ 

v^engeance of Dungara executed upon the spirit¬ 
ual children of the Keverend J ustus Krenk, Pastor 
of the Tubingen Mission, and upon Lotta, his 
virtuous wife. 

Yet if ever a man merited good treatment of 
the Gods it was the Keverend Justus, one time of 
Heidelberg, who, on the faith of a call, went into 
the wilderness and took the blonde, blue-eyed 
Lotta with him. ^^We will these Heathen now 
by idolatrous practices so darkened better make,” 
said Justus in the early days of his career. 

Yes,” he added with conviction, ^Hhey shall be 
good and shall with their hands to work learn. 
For all good Christians must work.” And upon 
a stipend more modest even than that of an Eng¬ 
lish lay-reader, Justus Krenk kept house beyond 
Kamala and the gorge of Malair, beyond the 
Berbulda River close to the foot of the blue hill 
of Panth on whose summit stands the Temple of 
Dungara—in the heart of the country of the 
Buria Kol—the naked, good-tempered, timid, 
shameless, lazy Buria Kol. 

Do you know what life at a Mission outpost 
means ? Try to imagine a loneHness exceeding 


2i8 in black and white. 

that of the smallest station to which Government 
has ever sent you—isolation that weighs upon 
the waking eyelids and drives you perforce head¬ 
long into the labors of the day. There is no 
post, there is no one of your own color to speak 
to, there are no roads; there is, indeed, food to 
keep you alive, but it is not pleasant to eat; and 
whatever of good or beauty or interest there is in 
your life, must come from yourself and the grace 
that may be planted in you. 

In the morning, with a patter of soft feet, the 
converts, the doubtful, and the open scofPers, 
troop up to the veranda. You must be infinitely 
kind and patient, and, above all, clear-sighted, for 
you deal with the simplicity of childhood, the ex¬ 
perience of man, and the subtlety of the savage. 
Your congregation have a hundred material wants 
to be considered ; and it is for you, as you believe 
ill your personal responsibility to your Maker, to 
pick out of the clamoring crowd any grain of 
spirituality that may lie therein. If to the cure 
of souls you add that of bodies, your task will be 
all the more difficult, for the sick and the maimed 
will profess any and every creed for the sake of 


THE JUDGMENT OF DUNGARA. 2 IQ 

healing, and will laugh at you because you are 
simple enough to believe them. 

As the day wears and the impetus of the morn¬ 
ing dies away, there will come upon you an over¬ 
whelming sense of the uselessness of your toil. 
This must be striven against, and the only spur 
in your side will be the belief that you are play¬ 
ing against the Devil for the living soul. It is a 
great, a joyous belief; but he who can hold it 
unwavering for four-and-twenty consecutive hours, 
must be blessed with an abundantly strong phy¬ 
sique and equable nerve. 

Ask the gray heads of the Bannockburn Medi¬ 
cal Crusade what manner of life their preachers 
lead; speak to the Racine Gospel Agency, those 
lean Americans whose boast is that they go where 
no Engbshman dare follow; get a Pastor of the 
Tubingen Mission to talk of his experiences—if 
you can. You will be referred to the printed re¬ 
ports, but these contain no mention of the men 
who have lost youth and health, all that a man 
may lose except faith, in the wilds; of English 
maidens who have gone forth and died in the 
fever-stricken jungle of the Panth Hills, knowing 


220 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

from the first that death was almost a certainty. 
Few Pastors will tell you of these things any 
more than they will speak of that young David 
of St. Bees, who, set apart for the Lord’s work, 
broke down in the utter desolation, and returned 
half distraught to the Head Mission, crying :— 

There is no God, but I have walked with the 
Devil! ” 

The reports are silent here, because heroism, 
failure, doubt, despair and self-abnegation on the 
part of a mere cultured white man are things of 
no weight as compared to the saving of one half¬ 
human soul from a fantastic faith in wood-spirits, 
goblins of the rock, and river-fiends. 

And Gallio, the Assistant Collector of the 
country side, cared for none of these things.” 
He had been long in the district, and the Buria 
Kol loved him and brought him offerings of 
speared fish, orchids from the dim moist heart of 
the forests, and as much game as he could eat. 
In return, he gave them quinine, and with Athon 
Daze, the High Priest, controlled their simple 
policies. 

When you have been some years m the 


THE JUDGMENT OF DUNGARA. 221 

country/' said Gallic at the Krenks’ table, ^^you 
grow to find one creed as good as another. I’ll 
give you all the assistance in my power, of course, 
but don’t hurt my Buria Kol. They are a good 
people and they trust me.” 

I will them the Word of the Lord teach,” 
said Justus, his round face beaming with enthu¬ 
siasm, and I will assuredly to their prejudices no 
wrong hastily without thinking make. But, 0 
my friend, this in the mind impartiality-of-creed- 
judgment-belooking is very bad.” 

Heigh-ho 1 ” said Gallio, I have their bodies 
and the district to see to, but you can try what 
you can do for their souls. Only don’t behave as 
your predecessor did, or I’m afraid that I can’t 
guarantee your life.” 

And that ? ” said Lotta sturdily, handing him 
a cup of tea. 

He went up to the Temple of Dungara—to 
be sure he was new to the country—and began 
hammering old Dungara over the head with an 
umbrella; so the Buria Kol turned out and ham¬ 
mered him rather savagely. I was in the district, 
and he sent a runner to me with a note saying: 


222 


IN BLACK AND WHITE. 


—^ Persecuted for the Lord’s sake. Send wing of 
regiment.’ The nearest troops were about two 
hundred miles off, but I guessed what he had 
been doing. I rode to Panth and talked to old 
Athon Daze like a father, telling him that a man 
of his wisdom ought to have known that the 
Sahib had sunstroke and was mad. You never 
saw a people more sorry in your life. Athon 
Daze apologized, sent wood and milk and fcJwls 
and all sorts of things ; and I gave five rupees to 
the shrine and told Macnamara that he had been 
injudicious. He said that I had bowed down in 
the House of Kimmon ; but if he had only just 
gone over the brow of the hill and insulted Palin 
Deo, the idol of the Suria Kol, he would have 
been impaled on a charred bamboo long before I 
could have done anything, and then I should 
have had to have hanged some of the poor brutes. 
Be gentle with them, Padri . . . but I don’t 
think you’ll do much.” 

Not I,” said Justus, ^^but my Master. We 
will with the little children begin Many of 
them will be sick—that is so. After the children, 
the mothers; and then the men. But I would 


THE JUDGMENT OF DUNGARA. 223 

greatly that you were in internal sympathies with 
us prefer.^’ 

Gallic departed to risk his life in mending the 
rotten bamboo bridges of his people, in killing a 
too persistent tiger here or there, in sleeping out 
in the reeking jungle, or in tracking the Suria 
Kol raiders who had taken a few heads from their 
brethren of the Buria clan. A knock-kneed 
shambling young man was Gallic, naturally devoid 
of creed or reverence, with a longing for absolute 
power which his undesirable district gratified. 

No one wants my post,’’ he used to say 
grimly, and my Collector only pokes his nose in 
when he’s quite certain that there is no fever. 
I’m monarch of aU I survey, and Athon Daze is 
my viceroy.” 

Because Gallic prided himself on his supreme 
disregard of human life—though he never ex¬ 
tended the theory beyond his own—he naturally 
rode forty miles to the Mission with a tiny brown 
baby on his saddle-bow. 

Here is something for you, Padri,” said he. 

The Kols leave their surplus children to die. 
’Don’t see why they shouldn’t, but you may rear 


224 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

this one. I picked it up beyond the Berbulda 
fork. I’ve a notion that the mother lias been 
following me through the woods ever since.” 

It is the first of the fold,” said Justus, and 
Lotta caught up the screaming morsel to her 
bosom and hushed it craftily ; while, as a wolf 
hangs in the field, Matui, who had borne it and 
in accordance with the law of her tribe had ex¬ 
posed it to die, panted weary and footsore in the 
bamboo-brake, watching the house with hungry 
mother-eyes. What would the omnipotent As¬ 
sistant Collector do ? W ould the little man in 
the black coat eat her daughter alive as Athon 
Daze said was the custom of all men in black 
coats ? 

Matui waited among the bamboos through the 
long night; and, in the morning, there came 
forth a fair white woman, the like of whom Matui 
had never seen, and in her arms was Matu’s 
daughter clad in spotless raiment. Lotta knew 
little of the tongue of the Buria Kol, but when 
mother calls to mother, speech is easy to under- 
stand. By the hands stretched timidly to the 
hem of her gown, bv the passionate gutturals and 


THE JUDGMENT OF DUNGARA. 22$ 

the longing eyes, Lotta understood with whom 
she had to deal. So Matui took her child 
again—would be a servant, even a slave, to 
this wonderful white woman, for her own tribe 
would recognize her no more. And Lotta 
wept with her exhaustively, after the German 
fashion, which includes much blowing of the 
nose. 

First the child, then the mother, and last the 
man, and to the Glory of God all,’’ said Justus 
the Hopeful. And the man came, with a bow 
and arrows, very angry indeed, for there was no 
one to cook for him. 

But the tale of the Mission is a long one, and 
I have no space to show how Justus, forgetful of 
his injudicious predecessor, grievously smote 
Moto, the husband of Matui, for his brutality; 
how Moto was startled, but being released from 
tlie fear of instant death, took heart and became 
the faithful ally and first convert of Justus; how 
the l.ttle gathering grew, to the huge disgust of 
A thou Haze; how the Priest of the God of 
Things as They Are argued subtilely with the 

Priest of the God of things as They Should Be, 
«5 


220 


IN BLACK AND WHITE. 


and was worsted; how the dues of the temple of 
Dungara fell away in fowls and fish and honey¬ 
comb; how Lotta lightened the Curse of Eve 
among the women, and how J ustus did his best 
to introduce the Curse of Adam; how the Buria 
Kol rebelled at this, saying that their God was an 
idle God, and how Justus partially overcame their 
scruples against work, and taught them that the 
black earth was rich in other produce than pig¬ 
nuts only. 

All these things belong to the history of many 
months, and throughout those months the white- 
haired Athon Daze meditated revenge for the tri¬ 
bal neglect ofDungara. With savage cunning he 
feigned friendship towards Justus, even hinting at 
his own conversion ; but to the congregation of 
Dungara he said darkly:—They of the Padri’s 
flock have put on clothes and worship a busy God. 
Therefore Dungara will afflict them grievously till 
they throw themselves, howling, into the waters 
of the Berbulda. ” At night the Red Elephant 
Tusk boomed and groaned among the hills, and the 
faithful waked and said :—The God of Things as 
They Are matures revenge against the backsliders. 


THE JUDGMENT OF DUNGARA. 22? 

Be merciful, Dungara to us Thy children, and give 
us all their crops ! ” 

Late in the cold weather, the Collector and his 
wife came into the Buria Kol country. Go and 
look at Krenk’s mission,” said Gallio. He is 
doing good work in his own way, and I think he’d 
be pleased if you opened the bamboo chapel that 
he has managed to run up. At any rate, you’ll 
see a civilized Buria Kol.” 

Great was the stir in the Mission. “ Now he 
and the gracious lady will that we have done good 
work with their own eyes see, and—yes—we will 
him our converts in all their new clothes by their 
own hands constructed exhibit. It will a great day 
be—for the Lord always,” said Justus ; and Lotta 
said Amen.” 

Justus had, in his quiet way, felt jealous of the 
Bazel Weaving Mission, his own converts being 
unhandy ; but Athon Daze had latterly induced 
some of them to hackle the glossy silky fibers 
of a plant that grew plenteously on the Panth 
Hill. It yielded a cloth white and smooth almost 
as the tappa of the South Seas, and that day 
the converts were to wear for the first time 


228 


IN BLACK AND WHITfi. 


clothes made therefrom Justus was proud of his 
work. 

They shall in white clothes clothed to meet 
the Collector and his well-born lady come down, 
singing ^ Now thank we all our God,'" Then he 
will the Chapel open, and—yes—even Gallio to 
believe will begin. Stand so, my children, two by 
two, and—Lotta, why do they thus themselves be- 
scratch ? It is not seemly to wriggle, Nala, my 
child. The Collector will be here and be pained.” 

The Collector, his wife, and Gallio climbed the 
hill to the mission station. The converts were 
drawn up in two lines, a shining band nearly forty 
strong. Hah!” said the Collector, whose ac¬ 
quisitive bent of mind led him to believe that he 
had fostered the institution from the first. 

Advancing, I see, by leaps and bounds.” 
Never was truer word spoken 1 The Mission was 
advancing exactly as he had said—at first by little 
hops and shuffles of shamefaced uneasiness, but 
soon by the leaps of fly-stung horses and the 
bounds of maddened kangaroos. From the hill of 
Panth the Red Elephant Tusk delivered a dry and 
anguished blare. The ranks of the converts wa^ 


THE JUDGMENT OF DUNGARA. 229 

vered, broke and scattered with yells and shrieks 
of pain, while Justus and Lotta stood horror- 
stricken. 

It is the Judgment of Dungara ! ” shouted a 
voice. I burn ! I burn ! To the river or we 
die !” 

The mob wdieeled and headed for the rocks that 
overhung the Berbulda, writhing, stamping, twist¬ 
ing, and shedding its garments as it ran, pursued 
by the thunder of the trumpet of Dungara. Jus¬ 
tus and Lotta fled to the Collector almost in tears. 

I cannot understand ! Yesterday,’’ panted 
Justus, they had the Ten Commandments. . . . 
What is this ? Praise the Lord all good spirits by 
land or by sea. Nala ! Oh, shame 1 ” 

With a bound and a scream there alighted on 
the rocks above their heads, Nala, once the pride 
of the Mission, a maiden of fourteen summers, 
good, docile, and virtuous—now naked as the 
dawn and spitting like a wild-cat. 

Was it for this ! ” she raved, hurling her 
petticoat at Justus; was it for this I left my 
people and Dungara—for the fires of your Bad 
Place? Blind ape, little earthworm, dried fish 


230 


IN BLACK AND WHITE. 


that you are, you said that I should never burn \ 
0 Dungara, I burn now ! I burn now ! Have 
mercy, God of Things as They Are 1 ’’ 

She turned and flung herself into the Berbulda, 
and the trumpet of Dungara bellowed jubilantly. 
The last of the converts of the Tubingen Mission 
had put a quarter of a mile of rapid river between 
herself and her teachers. 

Yesterday,’’ gulped Justus, she taught in 
the school A, B, C, D.—Oh I It is the work of 
Satan !” 

But GaUio was curiously regarding the maiden’s 
petticoat where it had fallen at his feet. He 
felt its texture, drew back his shirt-sleeve beyond 
the deep tan of his hand and pressed a fold of 
the cloth against the flesh. A blotch of angry 
red rose on the white skin. 

Ah ! ” said Gallio calmly, I thought so. ” 
What is it?” said Justus. 

I should call it the Shirt of Nessus, but . . . 
Where did you get the fiber of this cloth from ? ” 
Athon Daze,” said Justus. He showed 
the boys how it should manufactured be.” 

The old fox 1 Do you know that he has 


THE JUDGMENT OF DUNGARA. 231 

given you the Nilgiri Nettle—scorpion— Girard- 
enia heterophylla —to work up. No wonder 
they squirmed ! Why, it stings even when they 
make bridge-ropes of it, unless it’s soaked for six 
weeks. The cunning brute! It would take 
about half an hour to burn through their thick 
hides, and then . . . ! ” 

Gallio burst into laughter, but Lotta was weep¬ 
ing in the arms of the Collector’s wife, and Jus¬ 
tus had covered his face with his hands. 

Girardenia heterophylla ! ” repeated Gallio. 

Krenk, why didrCt you tell me ? I could have 
saved you this. Woven hre ! Anybody but a 
naked Kol would have known it, and, if I’m a 
judge of their ways, you’ll never get them back.” 

He looked across the river to where the con¬ 
verts were still wallowing and wailing in the 
shallows, and the laughter died out of his eyes, 
for he saw that the Tubingen Mission to the 
Buria Kol was dead. 

Never again, though they hung mournfully 
round the deserted school for three months, could 
Lotta or Justus coax back even the most promis¬ 
ing of their floek. No! The end of conversion 


/ 


232 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

was the fire of the Bad Place—fire that ran 
through the limbs and gnawed into the bones. 
Who dare a second time tempt the anger of Dun» 
gara? Let the little man and his wife go else* 
where. The Buria Kol would have none of them. 
An unofficial message to Athon Daze that if a 
hair of their heads were touched, Athon Daze 
and the priests of Dungara would be hanged by 
Gallio at the temple shrine, protected Justus and 
Lotta from the stumpy poisoned arrows of the 
Buria Kol, but neither fish nor fowl, honeycomb, 
salt, nor young pig were brought to their doors 
any more. And, alas ! man cannot live by grace 
alone if meat be wanting. 

Let us go, mine wife,'’ said Justus; there 
is no good here, and the Lord has willed that 
some other man shall the work take—in good 
time—in His own good time. We will go away, 
and I will—yes—some botany bestudy.” 

If any one is anxious to convert the Buria Kol 
afresh, there lies at least the core of a mission- 
house under the hill of Panth. But the chapel 
and school have long since fallen back into jungle. 


AT HOWLI THANA. 


233 


A.T HOWLI THANA. 


“ His own shoe, his own head ,”—Native Proverb. 


As a messenger, if the heart of the Presence 
be moved to so great favor. And on six rupees. 
Yes, Sahib, for I have three little little children 
whose stomachs are always empty, and corn is now 
but twenty pounds to the rupee. I will make so 
clever a messenger that you shall all day long be 
pleased with me, and, at the end of the year, 
bestow a turban. I know all the roads of the 
Station and many other things. Aha, Sahib ! I 
am clever. Give me service. I was aforetime in 
the Police. A bad character? Now without 
doubt an enemy has told this tale. Never was I 
a scamp. I am a man of clean heart, and all my 
words are true. They knew this when I was in 
the Police. They said :—Afzal Khan is a true 
speaker in whose words men may trust.’’ I am a 



234 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

Delhi Pathan, Sahib—all Delhi Pathans are good 
men. You have seen Delhi? Yes, it is true 
that there he many scamps among the Delhi 
Pathans. How wise is the Sahib ! Nothing is 
hid from his eyes, and he will make me his mes¬ 
senger, and I will take all his notes secretly and 
without ostentation. Nay, Sahib, God is 
witness that I meant no evil. I have long desired 
to serve under a true Sahib—a virtuous Sahib. 
Many young Sahibs are as devils unchained. With 
these Sahibs I would take no service—not though 
all the stomachs of my little children were crying 
for bread. 

Why am I not still in the Police ? I will speak 
true talk. An evil came to the Thana—to Pam 
Baksh, the Havildar, and Maula Baksh, and Jug- 
gut Ram and Bhim Singh and Suruj Bui. Ram 
Baksh is in the jail for a space, and so also is 
Maula Baksh. 

It was at the Thana of Howli, on the road that 
leads to Gokral-Seetarun wherein are many 
dacoits. We were all brave men—Rustums. 
Wherefore we were sent to that Thana which was 
eight miles from the next Thana. All day and 


AT HOWL! THANA. 


235 

all night we watched for dacoits. Why does the 
Sahib laugh? Nay, I will make a confession. 
The dacoits were too clever, and, seeing this, we 
made no further trouble. It was in the hot 
weather. What can a man do in the hot days? 
Is the Sahib who is so strong—is he, even, vigor¬ 
ous in that hour? We made an arrangement 
with the dacoits for the sake of peace. That was 
the work of the Havildar who was fat. Ho ! Ho 1 
Sahib, he is now getting thin in the jail among 
the carpets. The Havildar said :—Give us no 
trouble, and we will give you no trouble. At 
the end of the reaping send us a man to lead be¬ 
fore the judge, a man of infirm mind against 
whom the trumped-up case will break down. 
Thus we shall save our honor.” To this talk the 
dacoits agreed, and we had no trouble at the 
Thana, and could eat melons in peace, sitting 
upon our charpoys all day long. Sweet as sugar¬ 
cane are the melons of Howli. 

Now there was an assistant commissioner—a. 
Stunt Sahib, in that district, called Yunkum 
Sahib. Aha ! He was hard^—hard even as is the 
Sahib who, without doubt, will give me the 


236 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

shadow o£ his protection. Many eyes had Yun- 
kum Sahib, and moved quicldy through his 
district. Men called him The Tiger of Gokral- 
Seetarun, because he would arrive unannounced 
and make his kill, and, before sunset, would be 
giving trouble to the Tehsildars thirty miles 
away. No one knew the comings or the goings 
of Yunkum Saliib. He had no camp, and when 
his horse was weary he rode upon a devil-carriage. 
I do not know its name, but the Sahib sat in the 
midst of three silver wheels that made no creak¬ 
ing, and drave them with his legs, prancing like 
a bean-fed horse—thus. A shadow of a hawk 
upon the fields was not more without noise than 
the devil-carriage of Yunkum Sahib. It was 
here : it was there : it was gone : and the rapport 
was made, and there w^as trouble. Ask the 
Tehsildar of Rohestri how the hen-stealins* came 

O 

to be known, Sahib. 

It fell upon a night that we of the Thana slept 
according to custom upon our charpoys, having 
eaten the evening meal and drunk tobacco. 
When we awoke in the morning, behold, of our 
six rifles not one remained. Also, the big 


AT HOWLI THANA. 


237 


Police-book that was in the Havildar’s charge was 
gone. Seeing these things, we were very much 
afraid, thinking on our parts that the daeoits, 
regardless of honor, had come by night, and put 
us to shame. Then said Earn Baksh, the Havil- 
dar :—‘‘ Be silent! Tbe business is an evil busi¬ 
ness, but it may yet go well. Let us make the 
case complete. Bring a kid and my tulwar. See 
you not 7i0Wy 0 fools ? A kick for a horse, but 
a word is enough for a man.’’' 

We of the Thana, perceiving quickly what was 
in mind of the Havildar, and greatly fearing that 
the service would be lost, made haste to take the 
kid into the inner room and attended to the 
words of the Havildar. Twenty dacoits came,” 
said the Havildar, and we, taking his words, 
repeated after him according to custom. There 
was a great fight,” said the Havildar, and of 
us no man escaped unhurt. The bars of the 
window were broken. Suruj Bui, see thou to 
that; and, 0 men, put speed into your work, for 
a runner must go with the news to The Tiger 
of Gokral-Seetarun.” Thereon, Suruj Bui, lean¬ 
ing with his shoulder, brake in the bars of 


238 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

the window, and 1, beating her with a whip, 
made the Havildar’s mare skip among the melon- 
beds till they were much trodden with hoof-prints. 

These things being made, I returned to the 
Thana, and the goat was slain, and certain por¬ 
tions of the walls w^ere blackened with fire, and 
each man dipped his clothes a little into the 
blood of the goat. Know, 0 Sahib, that a wound 
made by man upon his own body can, by those 
skilled, be easily discerned from a wound wrought 
by another man. Therefore, the Havildar, tak¬ 
ing his tulwar, smote one of us lightly on the fore¬ 
arm in the fat, and another on the leg, and a third 
on the back of the hand. Thus dealt he with all of 
us till the blood came ; and Suruj Bui, more eager 
than others, took out much hair. 0 Sahib, never 
was so perfect an arrangement. Yea, even I 
would have sworn that the Thana had been 
treated as we said. There was smoke and break¬ 
ing and blood and trampled earth. 

Kide now, Maula Baksh,” said the Havildar, 
to the house of the Stunt Sahib, and carry the 
news of the dacoity. Do you also, 0 Afzal Khan, 
run there, and take heed that you are mired with 


AT HOWLI THANA. 


239 

sweat and dust on your in-coming. The blood 
will be dry on the clothes. I will stay and send 
a straight report to the Dipty Sahib, and we will 
catch certain that ye know of, villagers, so that 
all may be ready against the Dipty Sahib’s 
arrival.’^ 

Thus Maula Baksh rode and I ran hanging on 
the stirrup, and together we came in an evil pligh:^ 
before The Tiger of Gokral-Seetarun in the Rohes- 
tri tehsil. Our tale was long and correct. Sahib, 
for we gave even the names of the dacoits and the 
issue of the fight and besought him to come. But 
The Tiger made no sign, and only smiled after 
the manner of Sahibs when they have a wicked¬ 
ness in their hearts. “ Swear ye to the rapport ? ” 
said he, and we said:—Thy servants swear. 
The blood of the fight is but newly dry upon us. 
Judge thou if it be the blood of the servants of 
the Presence, or not.” And he said :—I see. 
Ye have done well.” But he did not call for his 
horse or his devil-carriage, and scour the land as 
was his custom. He said :—Best now and eat 
bread, for ye be wearied men. I will wait the 
coming of the Dipty Sahib.” 


240 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

Now it is the order that the Havildar of the 
Thana should send a straight report of all dacoi- 
ties to the Dipty Sahib. At noon came he, a fat 
man and an old, and overbearing withal, but we 
of the Thana had no fear of his anger; dread¬ 
ing more the silences of The Tiger of Gokral- 
Seetarun. With him came Ram Baksh, the Hav¬ 
ildar, and the others, guarding ten men of the 
village of Howli—all men evil affected towards 
the Police of the Sirkar. As prisoners they 
'came, the irons upon their hands, crying for 
mercy—Imam Baksh, the farmer, who had denied 
his wife to the Havildar, and others, ill-conditioned 
rascals against whom we of the Thana bore spite. 
It was well done, and the Havildar was proud. 
But the Dipty Sahib was angry with the Stunt foi 
lack of zeal, and said Dam-Dam’’ after the cus¬ 
tom of the English people, and extolled the 
Havildar. Yunkum Sahib lay still in his long 
chair. Have the men sworn ? ” said Yunkum 
Sahib. Aye, and captured ten evildoers,” said 
the Dipty Sahib. “ There be more abroad in 
your charge. Take horse—ride, and go in the 
name of the Sirkar! ’’ “ Truly there be more 


AT HOWLI THANA. 


241 


evildoers abroad/’ said Yunkum Sahib, ^^but 
there is no need of a horse. Come all men with 
me.’^ 

I saw the mark of a string on the temples of 
Imam Baksh. Does the Presence know the torture 
of the Coal Draw ? I saw also the face of Tlie Ti¬ 
ger of Gokral-Seetarun, the evil smile was upon it, 
and I stood back ready for what might befall. 
Well it was, Sahib, that I did this thing. Yun¬ 
kum Sahib unlocked the door of his bath-room, 
and smiled anew% Within lay the six rides and 
the big Police-book of the Thana of Howli! He 
had come by night in the devil-carriage that is 
noiseless as a ghoul, and moving among us asleep, 
had taken away both the guns and the book! 
Twice had he come to the Thana, taking each time 
three rifles. The liver of the Havildar was turned 
to water, and he fell scrabbling in the dirt about 
the boots of Yunkum Sahib, crying,—Have mer¬ 
cy ! ” And I ? Sahib, I am a Delhi Pathan, and 
a young man with little children. The Havildar’s 
mare was in the compound. I ran to her and rode : 
the black wrath of the Sirkar was behind me, and 

I knew not whither to go. Till she dropped and 
c6 


242 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

died I rode the red mare ; and by the blessing of 
God, who is without doubt on the side of all just 
men, I escaped. But the Havildar and the rest 
are now in jail. ... I am a scamp ! It is as the 
Presence pleases. God will make the Presence a 
Lord, and give him a rich Memsahih, as fair as 
a Peri to wife, and many strong sons, if he makes 
me his orderly. The Mercy of Heaven be upon 
the Sahib! Yes, I will only go to the bazar and 
bring my children to these so-palace-like quarters, * 
and then—the Presence is my Father and my 
Mother, and I, Afzal Khan, am his slave. 

Ohe, 8irdar-ji! I also am of the household 
of the Sahib. 


GEMINI. 


243 


GEMINI. 


“ Great is the justice of the White Man—greater the powe* 
of a lie .”—Native Proverb. 

This is your English Justice, Protector of the 
Poor. Look at my back and loins which are beaten 
with sticks—heavy sticks ! I am a poor man, and 
there is no justice in Courts. 

There were two of us, and we were born of one 
birth, but I swear to you that I was born the first, 
and Ram Dass is the younger by three full breaths. 
The astrologer said so, and it is written in my ho¬ 
roscope—the horoscope of Durga Dass. 

But we were alike—I and my brother who is a 
beast without honor—so alike that none knew, to¬ 
gether or apart, which was Durga Dass. I am a 
Mahajun of Pali in Marwar, and an honest man. 
This is true talk. When we were men, we left our 
father’s house in Pali, and went to the Punjab 
where all the people are mud-heads and sons of 



244 


IN BLACK 4ND WHITE. 


asses. We took shop together in Isser Jang—1 
and my brother—near the big well where the Gov¬ 
ernor’s camp draws water. But Ram Dass, who 
is without truth, made quarrel with me, and we 
were divided. He took his books, and his pots, and 
his Mark, and became a himnia —money-lender— 
in the long street of Isser Jang, near the gateway 
of the road that goes to Montgomery. It was not 
my fault that w^e pulled each other’s turbans. I 
am a Mahajun of Pali, and I always speak true 
talk. Ram Dass was the thief and the liar. 

Now no man, not even the little children, could 
at one glance see which was Ram Dass and which 
was Durga Dass. But all the people of Isser 
J ang—may they die without sons !— said that we 
were thieves. They us©d much bad talk, but T 
took money on their bedsteads and their cooking- 
pots and the standing crop and the calf unborn, 
from the well in the big square to the gate of the 
Montgomery road. They were fools, these 
people—unfit to cut the toe-nails of a Marwari 
from Pali. I lent money to them all. A little, 
very little only—here a pice and there a pice. 
God is my witness that I am a poor man ! The 


GEMINI. 


245 

money is all with Ram Dass—may his sons turn 
Christian, and his daughter be a burning fire and 
a shame in the house from generation to genera¬ 
tion ! May she die unwed, and be the mother of 
a multitude of bastards ! Let the light go out 
in the house of Ram Dass, my brother. This 1 
pray daily twice—with offerings and charms. 
Thus the trouble began. We divided the town 
of Isser Jang between us—I and my brother. 
There was a landholder beyond the gates, living 
but one short mile out, on the road tliat leads to 
Montgomery, and his name was Muhammad Shah, 
son of a Nawab. He was a great devil and drank 
wine. So long as there were women in his house, 
and wine and money for the marriage-feasts, lie was 
merry and wiped his mouth. Ram Dass lent him 
the money, a lakh or half a lakh—how do 1 
know?—and so long as the money was lent, the 
landholder cared not what he signed. 

The people of Isser Jang were my portion, and 
the landholder and the out-town was the portion 
of Ram Dass; for so we had arranged. I was 
the poor man, for the people of Isser Jang were 
without wealth. I did what I could, but Ram 


246 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

Dass had only to wait without the door of the 
landholder’s garden-court, and to lend him the 
money; taking the bonds from the hand of the 
Steward. 

In the autumn of the year after the lending, 
Earn Dass said to the landholder:—Pay me my 
money,” but the landholder gave him abuse. 
But Ram Dass went into the Courts with the 
papers and the bonds—all correct—and took out 
decrees against the landholder; and the name of 
the Government was across the stamps of the de¬ 
crees. Ram Dass took field by field, and mango- 
tree by mango-tree, and well by well; putting in 
his own men—debtors of the out-town of Isser 
Jang—to cultivate the crops. So he crept up 
across the land, for he had the papers, and the 
name of the Government was across the stamps, 
till his men held the crops for him on all sides of 
the big white house of the landholder. It was 
well done; but when the landholder saw these 
things he was very angry and cursed Ram Dass 
after the manner of the Muhammadans. 

And thus the landholder was angry, but Ram 
Dass laughed and claimed more fields, as was 


GEMINI. 


247 

written upon the bonds. This was in the month 
of Phagun. I took my horse and went out to 
speak to the man who makes lac-bangles upon 
the road that leads to Montgomery, because he 
owed me a debt. There was in front of me, upon 
his horse, my brother Ram Dass. And when he 
saw me, he turned aside into the high crops, be¬ 
cause there was hatred between us. And I went 
forward till I came to the orange-bushes by the 
landholder’s house. The bats were flying, and 
the evening smoke was low down upon the land. 
Here met me four men—swashbucklers and 
Muhammadans—with their faces bound up, laying 
hold of my horse’s bridle and crying out:— 
This is Ram Dass ! Beat! ” Mo they beat with 
their staves—heavy staves bound about with wire 
at the end, such weapons as those swine of Pun¬ 
jabis use—till, having cried for mercy, I fell 
down senseless. But these shameless ones still 
beat me, saying:—0 Ram Dass, this is your 
interest—well weighed and counted into your 
hand. Ram Dass.” I cried aloud that I was not 
Ram Dass but Durga Dass, his brother, yet they 
only beat me the more, and when I could make 


248 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

no more outcry they left me. But I saw theii 
faces. There was Elahi Baksh who runs by the 
side of the landholder’s white horse, and Nur Ali 
the keeper of the do®r, and Wajib Ali the very 
strong cook, and Abdul Latif the messenger— 
all of the household of the landholder. These 
things I can swear on the Cow’s Tail if need be, 
but— Ahi! Ahi !—it has been already sworn, 
and I am a poor man whose honor is lost. 

When these four had gone away laughing, my 
brother Ram Bass come out of the crops and 
mourned over me as one dead. But I opened 
my eyes, and prayed him to get me water. When 
I had drunk, he carried me on his back, and by 
by-ways brought me into the town of Isser Jang. 
My heart was turned to Ram Dass, my brother, 
in that hour, because of his kindness, and I lost 
my enmity. 

But a snake is a snake till it is dead; and a 
liar is a bar till the Judgment of the Gods takes 
hold of his heel. I was wrong in that I trusted 
my brother—the son of my mother. 

When we had come to his house and I was a 
little restored, I told him my tale, and he said : 


GEMINI. 


249 


—Without doubt, it is me whom they would 
have beaten. But the Law Courts are open, and 
there is the Justice of the Sirkar above all; and 
to the Law Courts do thou go when this sickness 
is overpast.” 

Now when we two had left Pali in the old 
years, there fell a famine that ran from Jeysulmir 
to Gurgaon and touched Gogunda in the south. 
At that time the sister of my father came away 
and lived with us in Isser Jang ; for a man must 
above all see that his folk do not die of want. 
When the quarrel between us twain came about, 
the sister of my father—a lean she-dog without 
teeth—said that Ram Dass had the right, and 
went with him. Into her hands—because she 
knew medicines and many cures—Ram Dass, my 
brother, put me, faint with the beating and much 
bruised even to the pouring of blood from the 
mouth. When I had two days’ sickness the fever 
came upon me ; and I set aside the fever to the 
account written in my mind against tlie land¬ 
holder. 

The Punjabis of Isser Jang are all the sons of 
Belial and a she-ass, but they are very good wit- 


250 


IN BLACK AND WHITE. 


nesses, bearing testimony unshakenly whatever 
the pleaders may say. I would purchase witnesses 
by the score, and each man should give evidence, 
not only against Nur Ali, Wajib Ali, Abdul Latif 
and Elahi Baksh, but against the landholder, say* 
ing that he upon bis white horse had called his 
men to beat me; and, further, that they had 
robbed me of two hundred rupees. For the latter 
testimony, I would remit a little of the debt of 
the man who sold the lac-bangles, and he should 
say that he had put the money into my hands, 
and had seen the robbery from afar, but, being 
afraid, had run away. This plan I told to my 
brother Ram Dass ; and he said that the arrange¬ 
ment was good, and bade me take comfort and 
make swift work to be abroad again. My heart 
was opened to my brother in my sickness, and 1 
told him the names of those whom I would call 
as witnesses—all men in my debt, but of that the 
Magistrate Sahib could have no knowledge, nor 
the landholder. The fever,^ staid with me, and 
after the fever I was taken with colic, and grip- 
ings very terrible. In that day I thought that my 
end was at hand, but I know now that she who 


GEMINI. 


251 

gave me the medicines^ the sister of my father— 
a widow with a widow’s heart—had brought about 
my second sickness. Earn Dass, my brother, said 
that my house was shut and locked, and brought 
me the big door-key and my books, together with 
all the moneys that were in my house—even the 
money that was buried under the floor ; for I was 
in great fear lest thieves should break in and dig. 
I speak true talk ; there was but very little money 
in my house. Perhaps ten rupees—perhaps 
twenty. How can I tell? God is my witness 
that I am a poor man. 

One night, when I had told Ram Dass all 
that was in my heart of the lawsuit that I would 
bring against the landholder, and Ram Dass 
had said that he had made the arrangements 
with the witnesses, giving me their names written, 
I was taken with a new great sickness, and they 
put me on the bed. When I was a little recovered 
—I cannot tell how many days afterwards—I 
made inquiry for Ram Dass, and the sister of my 
father said that he had gone to Montgomery upon 
a lawsuit. I took medicine and slept very heavily 
without waking. When my eyes w^e opened, 


IN BLACK AND WHITE. 


252 

there was a great stillness in the house of Ram 
Dass, and none answered when I called—not even 
the sister of my father. This filled me with fear, 
ior 1 knew not what had happened. 

Taking a stick in my hand, I went out slowly, 
till I came to the great square by the well, and my 
heart was hot in me against the landholder 
because of the pain of every step I took. 

1 called for Jowar Singh, the carpenter, whose 
name was first upon the list of those who should 
bear evidence against the landholder, saying :— 
Are all things ready, and do you know what 
should be said ? ’’ 

Jowar Singh answered :—What is this, and 
whence do you come, Durga Dass ? 

I said:—From my bed, where 1 have so long 
lain sick because of the landholder. Where is 
Ram Dass, my brother, who was to have made 
the arrangement for the witnesses ? Sui*ely you 
and yours know these things ! ” 

Then Jowlar Singh said :—What has this to 
do with us, 0 Liar ? I have borne witness and I 
have been paid, and the landholder has, by the 
order of the Court, paid both the five hundred 


GEMINI. 


253 

rupees that he robbed from Ram Dass and yet 
other five hundred because of the great injury he 
did to your brother."’ 

The well and the jujube-tree above it and the 
square of Isser Jang became dark in my eyes, 
but 1 leaned on my stick and said:—Nay ! 
Thi^ is child's talk and senseless. It was I who 
suffered at the hands of the landholder, and I 
am come to make ready the case. Where is my 
brother Ram Dass ? ” 

But Jo war Singh shook his head, and a woman 
cried :—What lie is here ? What quarrel had 
the landholder with you, hunnia f It is only a 
shameless one and one without faith who profits 
by his brother’s smarts. Have these hunnias no 
bowels ? ” 

I cried again, saying :—By the Cow—by the 
Oath of the Cow, by the Temple of the Blue- 
throated Mahadeo, I and I only was beaten— 
beaten to the death ! Let your talk be straight, 
0 people of Isser Jang, and I will pay for the 
witnesses.” And I tottered where I stood, for 

the sickness and the pain of the beating were 

% 

heavy upon me. 


254 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

Then Ram Narain, who has his carpet sj3read 
under the jujube-tree by the well, and writes all 
letters for the men of the town, came up and 
said :—To-day is the one-and-fortieth day since 
the beating, and since these six days the case has 
been judged in the Court, and the Assistant 
Commissioner Sahib has given it for your brother 
Ram Dass, allowing the robbery, to which, too, I 
bore witness, and all these things else as the wit¬ 
nesses said. There were many witnesses, and 
twice Ram Dass became senseless in the Court 
because of his wounds, and the Stunt Sahib—the 
bah a Stunt Sahib—gave him a chair before all 
the pleaders. Why do you howl, Durga Dass ? 
These things fell as I have said. Was it not so ? ” 

And Jo war Singh said :—That is truth. I 
was there, and there was a red cushion in the 
chair.” 

And Ram Narain said:—Great shame has 
come upon the landholder because of this judg¬ 
ment, and fearing his anger, Ram Dass and all 
his house have gone back to Pali. Ram Dass 
told us that you also had gone first, the enmity 
being healed between you, to open a shop in Pali 


GEMINI. 


255 


Indeed, it were well for you that you go even 
now, for the landholder has sworn that if he 
catch any one of your house, he will hang him by 
the heels from the well-beam, and, swinging him 
to and fro, will beat him with staves till the 
blood runs from his ears. What I have said in 
respect to the case is true, as these men here can 
testify—even to the five hundred rupees.” 

I said :—Was it five hundred ? ” And Kirpa 
Ram, theya^, said :—“ Five hundred; for I bore 
witness also.” 

And I groaned, for it had been in my heart to 
have said two hundred only. 

Then a new fear came upon me, and my bowels 
turned to water, and, running swiftly to the house 
of Ram Dass, I sought for my books and my 
money in the great wooden chest under my bed¬ 
stead. There remained nothing; not even a 
cowrie’s value. All had been taken by the devU 
who said he was my brother. I went to my own 
house also and opened the boards of the shutters ; 
but there also was nothing save the rats among 
the grain-baskets. In that hour my senses left 
me, and tearing my clothes, I ran to the well- 


2S6 in black and white. 

place, crying out for the Justice of the English, 
on my brother Ram Dass, and, in my madness, 
telling all that the books were lost. When men 
saw that I would have jumped down the well, 
they believed the truth of my talk; mere especi¬ 
ally because upon my back and bosom were still 
the marks of the staves of the landholder. 

Jo war Singh the carpenter withstood me, and 
turning me in his hands—for he is a very strong 
man—showed the scars upon my body, and bowed 
down with laughter upon the well-curb. He cried 
aloud so that all heard him, from the well-square 
to the Caravanserai of the Pilgrims :—Oho ! 
The jackals have quarreled, and the gray one 
has been caught in the trap. In truth, this man 
has been grievously beaten, and his brother has 
taken the money which the Court decreed! Oh, 
hunnia, this shall be told for years against you! 
The jackals have quarreled, and, moreover, the 
books are burned. 0 people indebted to Durga 
Dass—and I know that ye be many—the books 
are burned I ’’ 

Then all Isser Jang took up the cry that the 
books were burned-^ - Ahi! that in my 


GEMINI. 


257 

folly I had let that escape my mouth—and they 
laughed throughout the city. They gave me the 
abuse of the Punjabi, which is a terrible abuse 
and very tez ; pelting me also with sticks and cow- 
dung till I fell down and cried for mercy. 

Ram Narain, the letter-writer, bade the people 
cease, for fear that the news should get into Mont¬ 
gomery, and the Policemen might come down 
to inquire. He said, using many bad words:— 
This much mercy will I do to you, Durga Dass, 
though there was no mercy in your dealings with 
my sister’s son over the matter of the dun heifer. 
Has any man a pony on which he sets no store, 
that this fellow may escape ? If the landholder 
hears that one of the twain (and God knows 
v/hether he beat one or both, but this man is cer¬ 
tainly beaten) be in the city, there will be a murder 
done, and then will come the Police, making in¬ 
quisition into each man’s house and eating the 
sweet-seller’s stuff all day long.” 

Kirpa Ram, the jaty said :—I have a pony 
very sick. But with beating he can be made to 
walk for two miles. If he dies, the hide-sellers 
will have the body.” 

17 


IN BLACK AND WHITE„ 


258 

Then Chumbo, the hide-seller, said:—I will 
pay three annas for the body, and will walk by this 
man’s side till such time as the pony dies. If it 
be more than two miles, I will pay two annas only.” 

Kirpa Ram said :—Be it so.” Men brought 
the pony, and I asked leave to draw a little 
water from the well, because I was diied up with 
fear. 

Then Ran Narain said :—Here be four annas. 
God has brought you very low, Durga Dass, and 
I would not send you away empty, even though 
the matter of my sister’s son’s dun heifer be an 
open sore between us. It is a long way to your 
own country. Go, and if it be so willed, live ; 
but, above all, do not take the pony’s bridle, for 
that is mine.’’ 

And 1 went out of Isser Jang, amid the laugh¬ 
ing of the huge-thighed Jats, and the hide-seller 
walked by my side waiting for the pony to faU 
dead. In one mile it died, and being full of fear 
of the landholder, I ran till I could run no more 
and came to this place. 

But I swear by the Cow, I swear by aU things 
whereon Hindus and Musalmans, and even the 


GEMINI. 


259 

Sahibs swear, that I, and not mj brother, was 
beaten by the landholder. But the case is shut 
and the doors of the Law Courts are shut, and 
God knows where the haha Stunt Sahib—the 
mother’s milk is not dry upon his hairless lip—is 
gone. Ahi! AM! I have no witnesses, and 
the scars will heal, and I am a poor man. But, 
on my Father’s Soul, on the oath of a Mahajun 
from Pah, I, and not my brother, was beaten by 
the Pndholder! 

What can I do ? The Justice of the English 
is as a great river. Having gone forward, it does 
not return. Howbeit, do you. Sahib, take a pen 
and write clearly what I have said, that the Hipty 
Sahib may see, and reprove the Stunt Sahib, who 
is a colt yet unlicked by the mare, so young is he. 
I, and not my brother, was beaten, and he is gone 
to the west—do not know where. 

But, above all things, write—so that Sahibs 
may read, and his disgrace be accomplished—that 
Ram Dass, my brother, son of Purun Dass, Maha¬ 
jun of Pali, is a swine and a night-thief, a taker 
of life, an eater of flesh, jackal-spawn without 
beauty, or faith, or cleanliness, or honor ! 


200 


IN BLACK AND WHITE. 


AT TWENTY-TWO. 


“Narrow as the womb, deep as the Pit, and dark as the 
heart of a man .”—Sonthal Miner^s Proverb. 

A WEAVER went out to reap but stayed to un¬ 
ravel the corn-stalks. Ha ! Ha! Ha ! Is there 
any sense in a weaver? ” 

The never-ending tussle had recommenced. 
Janki Meah glared at Kundoo, but, as Janki Meah 
was blind, Kundoo was not impressed. He had 
come to argue with Janki Meah, and, if chance 
favored, to make love to the old man’s beautiful 
young wife. 

This was Kundoo’s grievance, and he spoke in 
the name of all the five men who, with Janki 
Meah, composed the gang in No. 7 gallery of 
Twenty-Two. Janki Meah had been blind for 
the thirty years during which he had served the 
Jimahari Collieries with pick and crowbar. All 
through those thirty years he had regularly, every 



AT TWENTY-TWO. 


261 


morning’ before going down, drawn from the 
overseer his allowance of lamp-oil—^just as if he 
had been an eyed miner. What Kundoo’s gang 
resented, as hundreds of gangs had resented before, 
was Janki Meah’s selfishness. He would not add 
the oil to the common stock of his gang, but 
would save and sell it. 

I knew these workings before you were born,’* 
Janki Meah used to reply : I don’t want the 
light to get my coal out by, and I am not going 
to help you. The oil is mine, and I intend to 
keep it.” 

A strange man in many ways was Janki Meah, 
the white-haired, hot-tempered, sightless weaver 
who had turned pitman. All day long—except 
on Sundays and Mondays when he was usually 
drunk—he worked in the Twenty-Two shaft of 
the Jimahari Colliery as clever as a man with all 
the senses. At evening he went up in the great 
steam-hauled cage to the pit-bank, and there 
called for his pony—a rusty, coal-dusty beast, 
nearly as old as Janki Meah. The pony would 
come to his side, and Janki Meah would clamber 
on to its back and be taken at once to the plot of 


262 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

land which he, like the other miners, received 
from the Jimahari Company. The pony knew 
that place, and when, after six years, the Company 
changed all the allotments, to prevent the miners 
acquiring proprietary rights, Janki Meah repre¬ 
sented, with tears in his eyes, that were his holding 
shifted, he would never be able to find his way to 
the new one. My horse only knows that place,” 
pleaded Janki Meah, and so he was allowed to 
keep his land. 

On the strength of this concession and his ac* 
cumulated oil-savings, Janki Meah took a second 
wife—a girl of the Jolalia main stock of the 
Meahs, and singularly beautiful. Janki Meah 
could not see her beauty; wherefore he took her 
on trust, and forbade her to go down the pit. 
He had not worked for thirty years in the dark 
without knowing that the pit was no place for 
pretty women. He loaded her with ornaments— 
not brass or pewter, but real silver ones—and she 
rewarded him by flirting outrageously with Kun- 
doo of No. 7 gallery gang. Kundoo was really 
the gang head, but Janki Meah insisted upon all 
the work being entered in his own name, and 


AT TWENTY-TWO. 263 

chose the men that he worked with. Custom— 
stronger even than the Jimahari Company—dic¬ 
tated that Janki, by right of his years, should 
manage these things, and should, also, work de¬ 
spite his blindness. In Indian mines where they 
cut into the solid coal with the pick and clear it 
out from floor to ceiling, he could come to no 
great harm. At Home, where they undercut the 
coal and bring it down in crashing avalanches 
from the roof, he would never have been allowed 
to set foot in a pit. He was not a popular man, 
because of his oil savings ; but all the gangs ad¬ 
mitted that Jankiknew all the Jehads, or workings, 
that had ever been sunk or worked since the Jim- 
ahaii Company first started operations on the 
Tarachunda fields. 

Pretty little Unda only knew that her old hus¬ 
band was a fool who could be managed. She 
took no interest in the collieries except in so far 
as they swallowed up Kimdoo five days out 
of the seven, and covered him with coal-dust. 
Kundoo was a great workman, and did his best not 
to get drunk, because, when he had saved forty 
rupees, Unda was to steal everything that she 


264 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

could find in Janki’s house and run withKundoo 
over the hills and far away” to countries where 
there were no mines, and every one kept three 
fat bullocks and a milch-buffalo. While this 
scheme was maturing it was his amiable custom 
to drop in upon Janki and worry him about the 
oil-savings. Unda sat in a corner and nodded 
approval. On the night when Kundoo had 
quoted that objectionable proverb about weavers, 
Janki grew angry. 

Listen, you pig,” said he, blind I am, and 
old I am, but, before ever you were born, I was 
gray among the coal. Even in the days when 
the Twenty-Two Ithad was unsunk and there 
were not two thousand men here, 1 was known 
to have all knowledge of the pits. What hliad 
is there that 1 do not know, from the bottom of 
the shaft to the end of the last drive? Is it 
the Baromba khad, the oldest, or the Twenty- 
Two where Tibu^s gallery runs up to Number 
Five? ” 

Here the old fool talk! ” said Kundoo,nod¬ 
ding to Unda. No gallery of Twenty-Two 
will cut into Five before the end of the Rains. 


AT TWENTY-TWO. 265 

We have a month’s solid coal before us. The 
slugs Bahuji says so.” 

Bahuji ! Pigji Dogie! What do these fat 
from Calcutta know ? He draws and draws and 
draws, and talks and talks and talks, and his maps 
are all wrong, I, Janki, know that this is so. 
When a man has been shut up in the dark for 
thirty years, God gives him knowledge. The old 
gallery that Tibu’s gang made is not six feet from 
Number Five.” 

Without doubt God gives the blind know! 
edge,’^ said Kundoo, with a look at Unda. 

Let it be as you say. I, for my part, do not 
know where lies the gallery of Tibu’s gang, but 
1 am not a withered monkey who needs oil to 
grease his joints with.” 

Kundoo swung out of the hut laughing, and 
Unda giggled. Janki turned his sightless eyes 
towards his wife and swore. I have land, and 
T have sold a great deal of lamp-oil,” mused 
Janki; but I was a fool to marry this child.” 

A week later the Rains set in with a venge¬ 
ance, and the gangs paddled about in coal-slush 
at the pit-banks. Then the big mine-pumps 


266 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

were made ready, and the Manager of the Colliery 
plowed through the wet towards the Tarachunda 
River swelling between its soppy banks^ Lord 
send that this beastly beck doesn’t misbehave,” 
said the Manager piously, and he went and took 
counsel with his Assistant . bout the pumps. 

But the Tarachunda misbehaved very much 
indeed. After a fall of three inches of rain in 
an hour it was obliged to do something. It 
topped its bank and joined the flood-water that 
was hemmed between two low hills just where 
the embankment of the Colliery main line crossed. 
When a good part of a rain-fed river, and a few 
acres of flood-water, make a dead set for a nine- 
foot culvert, the culvert may spout its finest, but 
the water cannot all get out. The Manager 
pranced upon one leg with excitement, and his 
language was improper. 

He had reason to swear, because he knew 
that one inch of water on land meant a pressure 
of one hundred tons to the acre ; and here were 
about five feet of water forming, behind the rail< 
way embankment, over the shallower workings of 
Twenty-Two. You must understand that, in a 


AT TWENTY-TWO. 267 

coal-mine the coal nearest the surface is worked 
first from the central shaft. That is to say, the 
miners may clear out the stuff to within ten, 
twenty, or thirty feet of the surface, and, when 
all is worked out, leave only a skin of earth up- 
Jield by some few pillars of coal. In a deep mine 
where they know that they have any amount of 
material at hand, men prefer to get all their 
mineral out at one shaft, rather than make a 
number of little holes to tap the comparatively 
unimportant surface-coal. 

And the Manager watched the flood. 

The culvert spouted a nine-foot gush; hut the 
water still formed, and word was sent to clear the 
men out of Twenty-Two. The cages came up 
crammed and crammed again with the men near¬ 
est the pit-eye, as they call the place where you 
can see daylight from the bottom of the main 
shaft. All away and away, up the long black 
galleries the flare-lamps were winking and dancRig 
like so many fire-flies, and the men and the wo¬ 
men waited for the clanking, rattling, thundering 
cages to come down and fly up again. But the 
out-workings were very far off, and the word 


268 


IN BLACK AND WHITE. 


could not be passed quickly, though the heads of 
the gangs and the Assistant shouted and swore 
and tramped and stumbled. The Manager kept 
one eye on the great troubled pool behind the em¬ 
bankment, and prayed that the culvert would give 
way and let the water through in time. With 
the other eye he watched the cages come up and 
saw the headmen counting the roll of the gangs. 
With all his heart and soul he swore at the win¬ 
der who controlled the iron drum that wound up 
the wire rope on which hung the cages. 

In a little time there was a down-draw in the 
water behind the embankment—a sucking whirl¬ 
pool, all yellow and yeasty. The water had 
smashed through the skin of the earth and was 
pouring into the old shallow workings of Twenty- 
Two. 

Deep down below, a rush of black water caught 
the last gang waiting for the cage, and as they 
clambered in, the whirl was about their waists. 
The cage reached the pit-bank, and the Manager 
called the roll. The gangs were all safe except 
Gang Janki, Gang Mogul, and Gang Rahim, 
eighteen men, with perhaps ten basket-women 


AT TWENTY-TWO. 269 

who loaded the coal into the little iron carriages 
that ran on the tramways of the main galleries. 
These gangs were in the out-workings^ three- 
quarters of a mile away, on the extreme fringe 
of the mine. Once more the cage went down, 
but with only two Englishmen in it, and dropped 
into a swirling, roaring current that had almost 
touched the roof of some of the lower side-gal¬ 
leries. One of the wooden balks with which they 
had propped the old workings shot past on the 
current, just missing the cage. 

“ If we don’t want our ribs knocked out, we’d 
better go,” said the Manager. We can’t even 
save the Company’s props.” 

The cage drew out of the water with a splash, 
and a few minutes later, it was officially reported 
that there were at least ten feet of water in the 
pit’s-eye. Now ten feet of water there meant 
that all other places in the mine were flooded ex¬ 
cept such galleries as were more than ten feet 
above the level of the bottom of the shaft. The 
deep workings would be full, the main galleries 
would be full, but in the high workings reached 
by inclines from the main roads, there would be 


270 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

a certain amount of air cut off, so to speak, hy 
the water and squeezed up by it. The little 
science-primers explain how water behaves when 
you pour it down test-tubes. The flooding of 
Twenty-Two was an illustration on a large scale. 

By the Holy Grove, what has happened to 
the air! ” It was a Sonthal gangman of Gang 
Mogul in No. 9 gallery, and he was driving a 
six-foot way through the coal. Then there was 
a rush from the other galleries, and Gang Janki 
and Gang Kahim stumbled up with their basket- 
women. 

Water has come in the mine,” they said, 
and there is no way of getting out.” 

I went down,” said Janki—down the slope 
of my gallery, and I felt the water.” 

There has been no water in the cutting in 
our time,” clamored the women. Why cannot 
we go away ? ” 

Be silent,” said Janki; long ago, when my 
father was here, water came to Ten—no. Eleven 
—cutting, and there was great trouble. Let us 
get away to where the air is better.” 


AT TWENTY-TWO. 


271 

The three gangs and the basket-women left 
No. 9 gallery and went further up No. 16. At 
one turn of the road they could see the pitchy 
black water lapping on the coal. It had touched 
the roof of a gallery that they knew well—a 
gallery where they used to smoke their hupas 
and conduct their flirtations. Seeing this, they 
called aloud upon their Gods, and the Mealis, 
who are thrice bastered Muhammadans, strove to 
recollect the name of the Prophet. They came 
to a great open square whence nearly all the coal 
had been extracted. It was the end of the out- 
workings, and the end of the mine. 

Far away down the gallery a small pumping- 
engine, used for keeping dry a deep working and 
fed with steam from above, was faithfully throb¬ 
bing. They heard it cease. 

They have cut off the steam, said Kundoo 
hopefully. They have given the order to use 
all the steam for the pit-bank pumps. They will 
clear out the water.” 

If the water has reached the smoking-gallery,” 
said Janki, ^^all the Company's pumps can do 
nothing for three days.’’ 


272 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

is very hot/^ moaned Jasoda, the Meah 
basket-woman. There is a very bad air here 
because of the lamps. 

Put them out/* said Janki; why do you 
want lamps?** The lamps were put out amid 
protests, and the company sat still in the utter 
dark. Somebody rose quietly and began walking 
over the coals. It was Janki, who was touching 
the walls with his hands. ‘‘ Where is the ledge ? ** 
he murmured to himself. 

Sit, sit! ’* said Kundoo. If we die, we die. 
The air is very bad.^’ 

But Janki still stumbled and crept and tapped 
with his pick upon the walls. The women rose 
to their feet. 

Stay all where you are. Without the lamps 
you cannot see, and I—I am always seeing,** said 
Janki. Then he paused, and called out:—Oh, 
you who have been in the cutting more than ten 
years, what is the name of this open place ? I 
am an old man and I have forgotten.** 

Bullia’s Room,** answered the Sonthal who 
had complained of the vileness of the air. 

Again,** said Janki. 


AT TWENTY-TWO. 


273 


Bullia’s Room.” 

Then I have found it,” said Janki. The 
name only had slipped my memory. Tibu’s 
gang’s gallery is here.” 

A lie,” said Kundoo. There have been no 
galleries in this place since my day.” 

Three paces was the depth of the ledge,’’ 
muttered Janki without heeding—^^and—oh, my 
poor bones!—I have found it! It is here, up 
this ledge. Come all you, one by one, to the 
place of my voice, and I will count you.” 

There was a rush in the dark, and Janki felt 
the first man’s face hit his knees as the Sonthal 
scrambled up the ledge. 

Who ? ” cried Janki. 

I, Sunua Manji.” 

Sit you down,” said Janki. Who next ? ” 
One by one the women and the men crawled 
up the ledge which ran along one side of 
Bullia’s Room.” Degraded Muhammadan, pig¬ 
eating Musahr and wild Sonthal, Janki ran his 
hand over them all. 

Now follow after,” said he, catching hold 
of my heel, and the women catching the men’s 


274 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

clothes.” He did not ask whether the men had 
brought their picks with them. A miner, black or 
white, does not drop his pick. One by one, Janki 
leading, they crept into the old gallery—a six- 
foot way with a scant four feet from thill to 
roof. 

The air is better here,” said Jasoda. They 
could hear her heart beating in thick, sick 
humps. 

‘^Slowly, slowly,” said Janki. I am an old 
man, and I forget many things. This is Tibu's 
gallery, hut where are the four bricks where they 
used to put their Imqa fire on when the Sahibs 
never saw? Slowly, slowly, 0 you people 
behind.” 

They heard his hands disturbing the small coal 
on the floor of the gallery and then a dull sound. 

This is one unbaked brick, and this is another 
and another. Kundoo is a young man—let him 
come forward. Put a knee upon this brick and 
strike here. When Tibu’s gang were at dinner 
on the last day before the good coal ended, they 
heard the men of Five on the other side, and Five 
worked their gallery two Sundays later—or it 


AT TWENTY-TWO. 275 

may have been one. Strike there, Kundoo, but 
give me room to go back.” 

Kundoo, doubting, drove the pick, but the first 
soft crash of the coal was a call to him. He was 
fighting for his life and for Unda—pretty little 
Unda with rings on all her toes—for Unda and 
the forty rupees. The women sang the Song 
of the Pick—the terrible, slow, swinging melody 
with the muttered chorus that repeats the sliding 
of the loosened coal, and, to each cadence, Kundoo 
smote in the black dark. When he could do no 
more, Sunua Manji took the pick, and struck for 
his life and his wife, and his village beyond the 
blue hills over the Tarachunda River. An hour 
the men worked, and then the women cleared 
away the coal. 

It is further than I thought,” said Janki. 

The air is very bad; but strike, Kundoo, strike 
hard.” 

For the fifth time Kundoo took up the pick as 
the Sonthal crawled back. The song had scarcely 
recommenced when it was broken by a yell from 
Kundoo that echoed down the gallery :—Par 
hua! Par hua^ We are through, we are 


276 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

through ! ” The imprisoned air in the mine shot 
through the opening, and the women at the far 
end of the gallery heard the water rush through 
the pillars of ^^BuUia’s Room” and roar against 
the ledge. Having fulfilled the law under which 
it worked, it rose no further. The women 
screamed and pressed forward. The water has 
come—we shall be killed ! Let us go.” 

Kundoo crawled through the gap and found 
himself in a propped gallery by the simple process 
of hitting his head against a beam. 

Do I know the pits or do I not ? ” chuckled 
Janki. ^^This is the number Five; go you out 
slowly, giving me your names. Ho! Rahim, 
count your gang ! Now let us go forward, each 
catching hold of the other as before,” 

They formed a line in the darkness and Janki 
led them—for a pitman in a strange pit is only 
one degree less liable to err than an ordinary 
mortal underground for the first time. At last 
they saw a flare-lamp, and Gangs Jahki, Mogul 
and Rahim of Twenty Two stmnbled dazed into 
the glare of the draught-furnace at the bottom of 
Five: Janki feeling his way and the rest behind. 


AT TWENTY-TWO. 


277 


Water has come into Twenty-Two. God 
knows where are the others. I have brought 
these men from Tibu^s gallery in, our cutting; 
making connection through the north side of the 
gallery. Take us to the cage,” said Janki Meah. 


At the pit-bank of Twenty-Two, some thousand 
people clamored and wept and shouted. One 
hundred men—one thousand men—had been 
drowned in the cutting. They would all go to 
their homes to-morrow. Where were their men ? 
Little Unda, her scarf drenched with the rain, 
stood at the pit-mouth calling down the shaft for 
Kundoo. They had swung the cages clear of 
the mouth, and her only answer was the murmur 
of the flood in the pit’s-eye two hundred and 
sixty feet below. 

Look after that woman ! She’ll chuck her¬ 
self down the shaft in a minute,” shouted the 
Manager. 

But he need not have troubled; Unda was 
afraid of Death. She wanted Kundoo. The 
Assistant was watching the flood and seeing how 


278 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

far he could wade into it. There was a lull in 
the water, and the whirlpool had slackened. The 
mine was full, and the people at the pit-bank 
howled. 

My faith, we shall be lucky if we have five 
hundred hands in the place to-morrow ! ” said the 
Manager. There’s some chance yet of running 
a temporary dam across that water. Shove in 
anything—tubs and bullock-carts if you haven’t 
enough bricks. Make them work now if they 
never worked before. Hi! you gangers, make 
them work I ” 

Little by little the crowd was broken into de¬ 
tachments, and pushed towards the water with 
promises of overtime. The dam-making began, 
and when it was fairly under way, the Manager 
thought that the hour had come for the pumps. 
There was no fresh inrush into the mine. The 
tall, red, iron-clamped pumpbeam rose and fell, 
and the pumps' snored and guttered and shrieked 
as the first water poured out of the pipe. 

We must run her all to-night,” said the 
Manager wearily, but there’s no hope for the 
poor devils down below. Look here, Gur Sahai, 


AT TWENTY-TWO. 279 

if you are proud of your engines, show me what 
they can do now.’’ 

Gur Sahai grinned and nodded, with his right 
hand upon the lever and an oil-can in his left. 
He could do no more than he was doing, but he 
could keep that up till the dawn. Were the 
Company’s pumps to be beaten by*the vagaries 
of that troublesome Tarachunda River ? Never 1 
never 1 And the puntps sobbed and panted :— 
Never, never ! ” The Manager sat in the shelter 
of the pitbank roofing, trying to dry himself 
by the pump-boiler fire, and, in the dreary 
dusk, he saw the crowds on the dam scatter and 

%• 

That’s the end,” he groaned. ’Twill take 
us six weeks to persuade ’em that we haven’t 
tried to drown their mates on purpose. Oh, for 
a decent, rational Geordie ! ” 

But the flight had no panic in it. Men had 
run over from Five with astounding news, and 
the foremen could not hold their gangs together. 
Presently, surrounded by a clamorous orew. Gangs 
Rahim, Mogul, and Janki, and ten basket-women, 
walked up to report themselves, and pretty little 


28o 


IN BLACK AND WHITE. 


Unda stole away to Janki’s hut to prepare his 
evening meal. 

Alone I found the way/’ explained Janki 
Meah, ‘^and now will the Company give me 
pension ? ” 

The simple pit-folk shouted and leaped and 
went back to the dam, reassured in their old be¬ 
lief that, whatever happened, so great was the 
power of the Company whose salt they ate, none 
of them could be killed. But Gur Sahai only 
bared his white teeth and kept his hand upon the 
lever and proved his pumps to the uttermost. 

I say,’’ said the Assistant to the Manager, a 
week later, do you recollect Germinal f ” 

Yes. ’Queer thing. I thought of it in the 
cage when that balk went by. Why ? ” 

Oh, this business seems to be Germinal up¬ 
side down. Janki was in my veranda all this 
morning, telling me that Kundoo had eloped 
with his wife—Unda or Anda, I think her name 
was.” 

Hillo! And those were the cattle that you 
risked your life to clear out of Twenty-Two ! ” 


AT TWENTY-TWO. 281 

No—I was thinking of the Company s props, 
not the Company’s men.” 

Sounds better to say so now ; but I don’t 
believe you, old fellow.” 


2'62 


IN BLACK AND WHITE, 


IN FLOOD TIMK 


Tweed said tae Till: — 

“ What gars ye rin sae still?" 

Till said tae Tweed : — 

“ Though ye ran wi’ speed 
An I ran slaw— 

Yet where ye droon ae man 
I droon twa.” 

There is no getting over the river to-night. 
Sahib. They say that a bullock-cart has been 
washed down already, and the ekka that went 
over a half-hour before you came, has not yet 
reached the far side. Is the Sahib in haste ? 1 

will drive the ford-elephant in to show him. 
Ohe, mahout there in the shed! Bring out 
Ram Pershad, and if he will face the current, 
good. An elephant never lies. Sahib, and Ram 
Pershad is separated from his friend Kala Nag. 
He, too, wishes to cross to the far side. Well 
done! Well done! my King! Go half-way 
across, mahoutjiy and see what the river says. 



IN FLOOD TIME. 


-’33 

W ell done, Ram Pershad! Pearl among 
elephants, go into the river 1 Hit him on the 
head, fool! W as the goad made only to scratch 
thy own fat back with, bastard ? Strike ! Strike ! 
What are the boulders to thee, Ram Pershad, 
my Rustum, my mountain of strength ? Go in ! 
Go in ! 

No, Sahib ! It is useless. You can hear him 
trumpet. He is telling Kala Nag that he can¬ 
not come over. See! He has swung round and 
is shaking his head. He is no fool. He knows 
what the Barhwi means when it is angry. Aha ! 
Indeed, thou art no fool, my child! Salaam, 
Ram Pershad, Bahadur! Take him under the 
trees, mahout, and see that he gets his spices. 
Well done, thou chiefest among tuskers. Salaam- 
to the Sirkar and go to sleep. 

What is to he done? The Sahib must wait 
^ill the river goes down. It will shrink to¬ 
morrow morning, if God pleases, or the day 
after at the latest. Now why does the Sahib get 
so angry? I am his servant. Before God, 1 
did not create this stream! What can I do ? 
My hut and all that is therein is at the service of 


284 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

the Sahib, and it is beginning to rain. Come 
away, my Lord. How will the river go down 
for your throwing abuse at it? In the old days 
the English people were not thus. The fire- 
carriage has made them soft. In the old days, 
when they drave behind horses by day or by 
night, they said naught if a river barred the way ? 
or a carriage sat down in the mud. It was the 
will of God—not like a fire-carriage which goes 
and goes and goes, and would go though all the 
devils in the land hung on to its tail. The fire- 
carriage hath spoiled the English people. After 
all, what is a day lost, or, for that matter, what 
are two days ? Is the Sahib going to his own 
wedding, that he is so mad with haste ? Ho ! 
Ho ! Ho ! I am an old man and see few Sahibs. 
Forgive me if I have forgotten the respect that 
is due to them. The Sahib is not angry ? 

His own wedding! Ho! Ho! Ho! The 
mind of an old man is like the niwnaA-tree. 
Fruit, bud, blossom and the dead leaves of all 
the years of the past flourish together. Old and 
new and that which is gone out of remembrance, 
all three are there 1 Sit on the bedstead. Sahib, 


IN FLOOD TIME. 285 

and drinb milk. Or . . . would the Sahib in 
truth care to drink my tobacco? It is good. It 
is the tobacco of Nuklao. My son, who is in 
service there, sent it to me. Drink, then. Sahib, 
if you know how to handle the tube. The Sahib 
takes it like a Musalman. Wall! Wah ! Where 
did he learn that ? His own wedding! Ho 1 
Ho! Ho 1 The Sahib says that there is no 
wedding in the matter at all ? Now is it likely 
that the Sahib would speak true talk to me who 
am only a black man ? Small wonder, then, that 
he is in haste. Thirty years have I beaten the 
gong at this ford, but never have I seen a Sahib 
in such haste. Thirty years. Sahib! That is a 
very long time. Thirty years ago this ford was 
on the track of the hunjaras, and I have seen 
two thousand pack-bullocks cross in one night. 
Now the rail has come, and the fire-carriage says 
huz-buz‘hiiz, and a hundred lakhs of maunds slide 
across that big bridge. It is very wonderful; 
but the ford is lonely now that there are no hun¬ 
jaras to camp under the trees. 

Nay, do not trouble to look at the sky without. 
It will rain till the dawn. Listen 1 The bouh 


286 


IN BLACK AND WHITE. 


ders are talking to-night in the bed of the river. 
Hear them ! They would be husking your bones, 
Sahib, had you tried to cross. See, I will shut 
the door and no rain can enter. Wahi ! Ahi ! 
Ugh! Thirty years on the banks of the ford I 
An old man am I and . . . where is the oil for 
the lamp ? 

• ••••• 

Your pardon, but, because of my years, I sleep 
no sounder than a dog ; and you moved to the 
door. Look then. Sahib. Look and listen. A 
full half hos from bank to bank is the stream now 
—^you can see it under the stars—and there are 
ten feet of water therein. It will not shrink 
because of the anger in your eyes, and it will not 
be quiet on account of your curses. Which is 
louder. Sahib—your voice or the voice of the 
river ? Call to it—perhaps it will be ashamed. 
Lie down and sleep afresh, Sahib. I know the 
anger of the Barhwi when there has fallen rain 
in the foot-hills. I swam the flood, once, on a 
night tenfold worse than this, and by the Favor 
of God I was released from Death when I had 
eome to the very gates thereof. 


IN FLOOD TIME. 287 

May I tell the tale ? Very good talk. I will 

fill the pipe anew. 

Thii’ty years ago it was, when I was a young 
man and had but newly come to the ford. I was 
strong then, and the hunjaras had no doubt when 
I said this ford is clear.” I have toiled all 
night up to my shoulder-blades in running water 
amid a hundred bullocks mad with fear, and have 
brought them across losing not a hoof. When 
all was done I fetched the shivering men, and 
they gave me for reward the pick of their cattle 
—the bell-bullock of the drove. So great was 
the honor in which I was held! But, to-day 
when the rain falls and the river rises, I creep 
into my hut and whimper like a dog. The 
strength is gone from me. I am an old man 
and the fire-carriages has made the ford desolate. 
Tliev were wont to call me the Strong One of the 
Barliwi. 

Behold my face. Sahib. It is the face of a 
monkey. And my arm. It is the arm of an 
old woman. I swear to you, Sahib, that a woman 
has loved this face and has rested in the hollow 
of this arm. Twenty years ago, Sahib. Be- 


288 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

lieve me, this was true talk . . . twenty years 
ago. 

Come to the door and look across. Can you 
see a thin fire very far away down the stream? 
That is the temple-fire, in the shrine of Hanuman, 
of the village of Pateera. North, under the big 
star, is the village itself, but it is hidden by a 
bend of the river. Is that far to swim. Sahib ? 
Would you take off your clothes and adventure ? 
Yet I swam to Pateera—not once but many 
times; and there are muggers in the river too. 

Love knows no caste; else why should I a Mus- 
alman and the son of a Musalman, have sought 
a Hindu woman—a widow of the Hindus—the sis¬ 
ter of the headman of Pateera ? But it was even 
so. They of the headman’s household came on a 
pilgrimage to Muttra when She was but newly a 
bride. Silver tires were upon the wheels of the 
bttllock-cart, and silken curtains hid the woman. 
Sahib, I made no haste in their conveyance, for the 
wind parted the curtains and I saw Her. When 
they returned from the pilgrimage the boy that was 
Her husband had died, and I saw her again in the 
bullock-cart. By Gad, these Hindus are fools! 


IN FLOOD TIME. 289 

What was it to me whether She was Hindu or Jain 
—scavenger, leper or whole ? I would have married 
Fler and made Her a home by the ford. The Sev- 
anth of the Nine Bars says that a man may not 
marry one of the idolaters ? Is that truth ? Both 
Shiahs and Sunnis say that a Musalman may not 
marry one of the idolaters ? Is the Sahib a priest, 
then, that he knows so much ? I will tell him 
something that he does not know. There is neither 
Shiah nor Sunni, forbidden nor idolaters, in Love; 
and the Nine Bars are but nine little fagots that 
the flame of Love utterly burns away. In truth, I 
would have taken Her; but what could I do ? 
The headman would have sent his men to break 
my head with staves. I am^ not—I was not— 
afraid of any five men ; but against half a village 
who can prevail? 

Therefore it was my custom, these things hav¬ 
ing been arranged between us t’wain, to go by 
night to the village of Pateera, and there we met 
among the crops; no man knowing aught of the 
matter. Behold, now ! I was wont to cross here, 
skirting the jungle to the river bend where the 
railway bridge is, and thence across the elbow of 

IQ 


290 


iN BLACK AND WHITE. 


land to Pateera. The light of the shrine was mj 
guide when the nights were dark. That jungle 
near the river is very full of snakes—little karaits 
that sleep on the sand—and moreover, Her bro¬ 
thers would have slain me had they found me in 
the crops. But none knew—none knew save She 
and I; and the blown sand of the river-bed covered 
the track of my feet. In the hot months it was 
an easy thing to pass from the ford to Pateera, and 
in the first Rains, when the river rose slowly, it 
was an easy thing also. I set the strength of 
my body against the strength of the stream, and 
nightly I ate in my hut here and drank at Pateera 
yonder. She had said that one Hirnam Singh, a 
scamp, had sought, Her, and he was of a village 
up the river but on the same bank. All Sikhs are 
dogs, and they have refused in their folly that good 
gift of God—tobacco. I was ready to destroy 
Hirnam Singh that ever he had come nigh Her ; 
and the more because he had sworn to Her that 
She had a lover, and that he would lie in wait and 
give the name to the headman unless She went 
«,way with him. What curs are these Sikhs ! 

After that news, I swam always with a little 


IN FLOOD TIME- 


291 


sharp knife in my belt, and evil would it have 
been for a man had he stayed me. 1 knew not the 
face of Hirnani Singh, but 1 would have hilled any 
who came between me and Her. 

Upon a night in the beginning of the Rains, I 
was minded to go across to iPateera, albeit the 
river was angry. Now the nature of the Barhwi 
is this, Sahib. In twenty breaths it comes down 
from the Hills, a wall three feet high, and 1 have 
seen it, between the lighting of a fire and the cook¬ 
ing of a flapjack, grow from a runnel to a sister 
of the Jumna. 

When I left this bank tliere was a shoal a half- 
mile down, and I made shift to fetch it and draw 
breath tliere ere going forward; for I felt the 
hands of the river heavy upon my heels. Yet 
what will a young man not do for Love’s sake ? 
There was but little light from the stars, and mid¬ 
way to the shoal a branch of the stinking deodar 
tree brushed my mouth as I swam. That was a 
sign of heavy rain in the foot-hills and beyond, for 
the deodar is a strong tree, not easily shaken from 
the hillsides. I made haste, the river aiding me, 
but ere I had touched the shoal, the pulse of the 


292 


IN BLACK AND WHITE. 


stream beat, as it were, within me and around, and, 
behold, the shoal was gone and 1 rode high on the 
crest of wave that ran from bank to bank. Has 
the Sahib ever been cast into much water that 
fights and will not let a man use* his limbs ? To 
me, my head up on the water, it seemed as though 
there were naught but water to the world’s end, 
and the river drave me with its driftwood. A man 
is a very little thing in the belly of a flood. And 
this flood, though I knew it not, was the Great 
Flood about which men talk still. My liver was 
dissolved and 1 lay like a log upon my back in the 
fear of Death. There were living tilings in the 
water, crying and howling grievously—beasts of 
the forest and cattle, and once the voice of a man 
asking for help. But the rain came and lashed 
the water white, and I heard no more save tlie roar 
of the boulders below and the roar of the rain 
above. Thus I was whirled down stream, wrestiino- 
for the breath in me. It is very hard to die when 
one is young. Can the Sahib, standing here, see 
the railway bridge ? Look, there are the lights of 
the mail-train going to Peshawur ! The bridge is 
now twenty feet above the river, but upon that 


IN FLOOD TIME. 


203 

night the water was roaring against the lattice- 
work and against the lattice came I feet first. 
But much driftwood was piled there and upon the 
piers, and I took no great hurt. Only the river 
pressed me as a strong man presses a weaker. 
Scarcely could I take hold of the lattice-work and 
crawl to the upper boom. Sahib, the water was 
foaming across the rails a foot deep ! Judge 
therefore what manner of flood it must have 
been. I could not hear. I could not see. I 
could but lie on the boom and pant for breath. 

After a wliile the rain ceased and there came 
out in the sky certain new washed stars, and by 
their light I saw that there was no end to the 
black water as far as the eye could travel, and 
the water had risen upon the rails. There were 
dead beasts in the driftwood on the piers, and 
others caught by the neck in the lattice-work, 
and others not yet drowned who strove to find 
a foothold on the lattice-work—buffaloes and 
kine, and wild pig, and deer one or two, and 
snakes and jackals past all counting. Their 
bodies were black upon the left side of the 
bridge, but the smaller of them were forced 


294 BLACK AND WHITE. 

through the lattice-work and whirled down^ 
stream. 

Thereafter the stars died and the rain came 
down afresh and the river rose yet more, and I 
felt the bridge begin to stir under me as a man 
stirs in his sleep ere he wakes. But I was not 
afraid, Sahib. I swear to you that I was not 
afraid, though I had no power in my limbs. I 
knew that I should not die till I had seen Her 
once more. But I was very cold, and I felt that 
the bridge must go. 

There was a trembling in the water, such a 
trembling as goes before the coming of a great 
wave, and the bridge lifted its flank to the rush 
of that coming so that the right lattice dipped 
under water and the left rose clear. On mv 
beard, Sahib, I am speaking God’s truth ! As a 
Mirzapore stone-boat careens to the wind, so the 
Barhwi Bridge turned. Just thus and in no 
other manner. 

I slid from the boom into deep water, and 
behind me came the wave of the wrath of the 
river. I heard its voice and the scream of the 
middle part of the bridge as it moved from the 


IN FLOOD TIME. 


295 

piers and sank, and I knew no more till I rose in 
the middle of the great flood. I put forth my 
hand to swim, and lo! it fell upon the knotted 
hair of the head of a man. He was dead, for no 
one but I, the Strong One of Barhwi could have 
lived in that race. He had been dead full two 
days, for he rode high, wallowing, and was an 
aid to me. I laughed then, knowing for a surety 
that I should yet see Her and take no harm ; and 
I twisted my fingers in the hair of the man, for 
I was far spent, and together we went down the 
stream—he the dead and I the living. Lacking 
that help I should have sunk: the cold was in 
my marrow, and my flesh was ribbed and sodden 
on my bones. But he had no fear who had 
known the uttermost of the power of the river: 
and I let him go where he chose. At last we 
came into the power of a side-current that set to 
the right bank, and I strove with my feet to 
draw with it. But the dead man swung heavily 
in the whirl, and I feared that some branch had 
struck him and that he would sink. The tops 
of the tamarisk brushed my knees, so I knew we 
w^e come into flood-water above the crops, and, 


IN BLACK AND WHITE. 


296 

after, I let down my legs and felt bottom—the 
ridge of a field—and, after, the dead man stayed 
upon a knoll under a fig-tree, and I drew my 
body from the water rejoicing. 

Does the Sahib know whither the backwash 
of the flood had borne me ? To the knoll which 
is the eastern boundary-mark of the village of 
Pateera ! No other place. I drew the dead man 
up on the grass for the service that he had done 
me, and also because I knew not whether I 
should need him again. Then I went, crying 
thrice like a jackal, to the appointed place which 
was near the byre of the headman’s house. But 
my Love was already there, weeping upon Her 
knees. She feared that the flood had swept my 
hut at the Barhwi Ford. When I came softly 
through the ankle-deep water, she thought it was 
a ghost and would have fled, but I put my arms 
round Her, and ... I was no ghost in those 
days, though I am an old man now. Ho ! Ho ! 
Dried corn, in truth. Maize without juice. 
Ho! HoP 

1 I grieve to say that the Warden of the Barhwi Ford is i-e* 
sponsible here for two very bad puns in the vernacular.— R. K 


IN'FLOOD TIME. 


297 

I told Her the story of the breaking of the 
Barhwi Bridge, and She said that I was greater 
than mortal man, for none may cross the Barhwi 
in full flood, and I had seen what never man had 
seen before. Hand in hand we went to the 
knoll where the dead lay, and I showed Her by 
what help I had made the ford. She looked also 
upon the body under the stars, for the latter end 
of the night was clear, and hid Her face in Her 
hands, crying :— It is the body of Hirnam 
Sin<rh ! ’’ I said :— The swine is of more use 
dead than living, my Beloved,’^ and She said;— 
Surely, for he has saved the dearest life in the 
world to my love. None the less, he cannot 
stay here, for that would bring shame upon me.’’ 
The body was not a gunshot from Her door. 

Then said I, rolling the body with my hands : 
—God hath judged between us, Hirnam Singh, 
that thy blood might not be upon my head. 
UTow, whether I have done thee a wrong in 
keeping thee from the hurning-ghat, do thou and 
the crows settle together.” So I cast him adrift 
into the flood-water, and he was drawn out to 
the open, ever wagging his thick black beard 


298 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

like a'priest under the pulpit-board. And I sa^ 
no more of Hirnam Singh. 

Before the breaking of the day we two parted, 
and I moved towards such of the jungle as was 
not flooded. With the full light I saw what I 
had done in the darkness, and the bones of my 
body were loosened in my flesh, for there ran 
two kos of raging water between the village of 
Pateera and the trees of the far bank, and, in the 
middle, the piers of the Barhwi bridge showed 
like broken teeth in the jaw of an old man. Nor 
was there any life upon the waters—neither birds 
hor boats, but only an army of drowned things 
—bullocks and horses and men—and the river 
was redder than blood from the clay of, the foot¬ 
hills. Never had I seen such a flood—never 
since that year have I seen the like—and, 0 
Sahib, no man living had done what I had done. 
There was no return for me that day. Not for 
all the lands of the headman would I venture a 
second time without the shield of darkness that 
cloaks danger. I went a kos up the river to the 
house of a blacksmith, saying that the flood had 
swept me from my hut, and they gave me food. 


IN FLOOD TIME. 


299 

Seven days I stayed with the blacksmith, till a 
boat came and I returned to my house. Ihere 
was no trace of wall, or roof, or floor—naught 
but a patch of slimy mud. Judge, therefore, 
Sahib, how far the river must have risen. 

It was written that I should not die either in my 
house, or in the heart of the Barhwi, or undei 
the wreck of Barhwi Bridge, for God sent down 
Hirnam Singh two days dead, though I know not 
how the man died, to be my buoy and support. 
Hirnam Singh has been in Hell these twenty 
years, and the thought of that night must be the 
flower of his torment. 

Listen, Sahib! The river has changed its 
voice. It is going to sleep before the dawn, to 
which there is yet one hour. With the light it 
will come down afresh. How do I know ? Have 
I been here thirty years without knowing the 
voice of the river as a father knows the voice of 
his son ? Every moment it is talking less angrily. 
I swear that there will be no danger for one horn 
or, perhaps, two. I cannot answer for the morn¬ 
ing. Be quick. Sahib ! I will call Bam Pershad, 
and he will not turn back this time. Is the paulin 


300 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

tightly corded upon all the baggage? Ohe, 
mahout with a mud head, the elephant for the 
Sahib, and tell them on the far side that there 
will be no crossing after daylight. 

Money ? Nay, Sahib. I am not of that kind. 
No, not even to give sweetmeats to the baby-folk. 
My house, look you, is empty, and I am an old 
man. 

Dutty Ram Pershad ! Dutt! JDutt / Dutt f 
Good-luck go with you, Sahib. 


THE SENDING OF DANA DA. 


301 


THE SENDING OF DANA DA. 


“ WHm the Devil rides on your chest remember the chamar,^' 
^Native Proverb. 

Once upon a time, some people in India made 
a new Heaven and a new Earth out of broken 
tea-cups, a missing brooch or two, and a hair¬ 
brush. These were hidden under hushes, or 
stuffed into holes in the hillside, and an entire 
Civil Service of subordinate Gods used to find or 
mend them again ; and every one said :—There 
are more things in Heaven and Earth than are 
dreamed of in our philosophy.” Several othe? 
things happened also, but the Eeligion nevei 
seemed to get much beyond its first manifesta¬ 
tions ; though it added an air-line postal dak, and 
orchestral effects in order to keep abreast of the 
times, and stall off competition. 

This Religion was too elastic for ordinary use. 
It stretched itself and embraced pieces of every- 



302 


IN BLACK AND WHITE. 


tiling that medicine-men of all ages have mann« 
factored. It approved of and stole from Free¬ 
masonry ; looted the Latter-day Rosicrucians of 
half their pet words; took any fragments of 
Egyptian philosophy that it found in the Ency- 
clopsedia Britannica; annexed as many of the 
Vedas as had been translated into French or Eng¬ 
lish, and talked of all the rest; built in the Ger¬ 
man versions of what is left of the Zend Avesta ; 
encouraged White, Gray, and Black Magic, in¬ 
cluding spiritualism, palmistry, fortune-teUing by 
cards, hot chestnuts, double-kernelled nuts and 
tallow droppings ; would have adopted Voodoo 
and Oboe had it known anything about them, and 
showed itself, in every way, one of the most 
accommodating arrangements that had ev»r been 
invented since the birth of the Sea. 

When it was in thorough working order, with 
all the machinery down to the subscriptions com¬ 
plete, Dana Da came from nowhere, with nothing 
in his hands, and wrote a chapter in its history 
which has hitherto been unpublished. He said 
that his first name was Dana, and his second was 
Da. Now, setting aside Dana of the New York 


THE SENDING OF DANA DA. 303 

Sun, Dana is a Bhil name, and Da fits no native 
of India unless you accept the Bengali De as the 
original spelling. Da is Lap or Finnish; and 
Dana Da was neither Finn, Chin, Bhil, Bengali, 
Lap, Nair, Gond, Bomaney, Magh, Bokhariot, 
Kurd, Armenian, Levantine, Jew, Persian, Pun- 
jabi, Madrasi, Parsee, nor anything else known to 
ethnologists. He was simply Dana Da, and de¬ 
clined to give further information. For the sake 
of brevity and as roughly indicating his origin, 
he was called ^^The Native.” He might have 
been the original Old Man of the Mountains, who 
is said to be the only authorized head of the Tea¬ 
cup Creed. Some people said that he was ; but 
Dana Da used to smile and deny any connection 
with the cult; explaining that he was an Inde¬ 
pendent Experimenter.” 

As I have said, he came from nowhere, with 
his hands behind his back, and studied the Creed 
for three wrecks ; sitting at the feet of those best 
competent to explain its mysteries. Then he 
laughed aloud and w’^ent away, but the laugh 
might have been either of devotion or derision. 

When he returned he was without money, but 


j 04 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

kis pride was unabated. He declared that he 
knew more about the Things in Heaven and 
Earth than those who taught him, and for this 
contumacy was abandoned altogether. 

His next appearance in public life was at a big 
cantonment in Upper India, and he was then tell¬ 
ing fortunes with the help of three leaden dice, 
a very dirty old cloth, and a little tin box of 
opium pills. He told better fortunes when he 
was allowed half a bottle of whisky; but the 
things which he invented on the opium were 
quite worth the money. He was in reduced cir¬ 
cumstances. Among other people’s he told the 
fortune of ajji Englishman who had once been in¬ 
terested in the Simla Creed, but who, later on, 
had married and forgotten all his old knowledge 
in the study of babies and Exchange. The Eng¬ 
lishman allowed Dana Da to tell a fortune foi 
charity’s sake, and gave him five rupees, a dinner, 
and some old clothes. When he had eaten, Dana 
Da professed gratitude, and asked if there were 
anything he could do for his host—in the esoteric 
line. 

‘‘Is there any one that you love ? ” said Dana 


THE SENDING OF DANA DA. 305 

Da. The Englishman loved his wife, but had no 
desire to drag her name into the conversation. 
He therefore shook his head. 

Is there any one that you hate ? ’’ said Dana 
Da. The Englishman said that there were several 
men whom he hated deeply. 

Very good/’ said Dana Da, upon whom the 
whisky and the opium were beginning to tell. 

Only give me their names, and I will despatch 
a Sending to them and kill them.” 

Now a Sending is a horrible arrangement, first 
invented, they say, in Iceland. It is a Thing 
sent by a wizard, and may take any form, but, 
most generally, wanders about the land in the 
shape of a little purple cloud till it finds the 
Sendee, and him it kills by changing into the 
form of a horse, or a cat, or a man without a face. 
It is not strictly a native patent, though chamars 
can, if irritated, despatch a Sending which sits on 
the breast of their enemy by night and nearly 
kills him. Very few natives care to irritate 
chamars for this reason. 

Let me despatch a Sending,” said Dana Da ; 

I am nearly dead now with want, and drink, and 
20 


3 o 6 in black and white. 

opium; but I should like to kill a man before I 
die. I can send a Sending anywhere you choose, 
and in any form except in the shape of a man.’’ 

The Englishman had no friends that he wished 
to kill, but partly to soothe Dana Da, whose eyes 
were rolling, and partly to see what would be 
done, he asked whether a modified Sending could 
not be arran2:ed for—such a Sendinof as should 
make a man’s life a burden to him, and yet do 
him no harm. If this were possible, he notified 
his willingness to give Dana Da ten rupees for 
the job. 

‘‘ I am not what I was once,’j’ said Dana Da, 
and I must take the money because I am poor. 
To what Englishman shall I send it ? ” 

Send a Sending to Lone Sahib,” said the 
Englishman, naming a man who had been most 
bitter in rebuking him for his apostasy from the 
Tea-cup Creed. Dana Da laughed and nodded. 

I could have chosen no better man myself,” 
said he. I will see that he finds the Sending 
about his path and about his bed.” 

He lay down on the hearth-rug, turned up 
the whites of his eyes, shivered aU over and be- 


THE SENDING OF DANA DA. 30? 

gan to snort. This was Magic, or Opium, or 
the Sending, or all three. When he opened his 
eyes he vowed that the Sending had started upon 
the war-path, and was at that moment flying up 
to the town where Lone Sahib lives. 

Give me my ten rupees,’’ said Dana Da 
wearily, and write a letter to Lone Sahib, tell¬ 
ing him, and all who believe with him, that you 
and a friend are using a power greater than 
theirs. They will see that you are speaking the 
truth.’’ 

He departed unsteadily, with the promise of 
some more rupees if anything came of the Send¬ 
ing. 

The Englishman sent a letter to Lone Sahib, 
couched in what he remembered of the termi¬ 
nology of the Creed. He wrote:—I also, 
in the days of what you held to be my backslid¬ 
ing, have obtained Enlightenment, and with 
Enli Sfhtenment has come Power.” Then he 
grew so deeply mysterious that the recipient of 
the letter could make neither head nor tail of it, 
and was proportionately impressed; for he fancied 
that his friend had become a fifth-rounder.” 


3 o 8 in B 1 .ACK AND WHITE. 

When a man is a ^^fifth-rounder” he can do 
more than Slade and Houdin combined. 

Lone Sahib read the letter in five different 
fashions, and was beginning a sixth interpretation 
when his bearer dashed in with the news that 
there was a cat on the bed. Now if there was 
one thing that Lone Sahib hated more than an* 
other, it was a cat. He rated the bearer for not 
turning it out of the house. The bearer said that 
he was afraid. All the doors of the bedroom 
had been shut throughout the morning, and no 
real cat could possibly have entered the room. 
He would prefer not to meddle with the creature. 

Lone Sahib entered the room gingerly, and 
there, on the pillow of his bed, sprawled and 
whimpered a wee white kitten, not a jumpsome, 
frisky little beast, but a slug-like crawler with its 
eyes barely opened and its paws lacking strength 
or direction—a kitten that ought to have been in 
a basket with its mamma. Lone Sahib caught it 
by the scruff of its neck, handed it over to the 
sweeper to be drowned, and fined the bearer four 
annas. 

That evening, as he was reading in his room^ 


THE SENDING OF DANA DA. 309 

he fancied that he saw something moving about 
on the hearth-rug, outside the circle of light from 
his reading-lamp. When the thing began to my- 
owl, he realized that it was a kitten—a wee white 
kitten, nearly blind and very miserable. He was 
seriously angry, and spoke bitterly to his bearer, 
who said that there was no kitten in the room 
when he brought in the lamp, and real kittens of 
tender age generally had mother-cats in attend¬ 
ance. 

If the Presence will go out into the veranda 
and listen,” said the bearer, he will hear no cats. 
How, therefore, can the kitten on the bed and 
the kitten on the hearth-rug be real kittens ? ” 
Lone Sahib went out to listen, and the bearer 
followed him, but there was no sound of Rachel 
mewino’ for her children. He returned to his 

O 

room, having hurled the kitten down the hillside, 
and wrote out the incidents of the day for the 
benefit of his co-religionists. Those people were 
so absolutely free from superstition that they 
ascribed anything a little out of the common 
to Agencies. As it was their business to know 
all about the Agencies, they were on terms of 


310 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

almost indecent familiarity with Manifestations 
of every kind. Their letters dropped from the 
ceiling—unstamped—and Spirits used to squatter 
up and down their staircases all night. But they 
had never come into contact with kittens. Lone 
Sahib wrote out the facts, noting the hour and 
the minute, as every Psychical Observer is bound 
to do, and appending the Englishman’s letter 
because it was the most mysterious document 
and might have had a bearing upon anything 
in this world or the next. An outsider would 
have translated all the tangle thus:—Look 
out! You laughed at me once, and now am I 
am going to make you sit up.” 

Lone Sahib’s co-religionists found that meaning 
in it; but their translation was refined and full 
of four-syllable words. They held a sederunt 
and were filled with tremulous joy, for in spite of 
their familiarity with all the other worlds and 
cycles, they had a very human awe of things sent 
from Ghostland. They met in Lone Sahib’s room 
in shrouded and sepulchral gloom, and their con¬ 
clave was broken up by a clinking among the 
photo-frames on the mantel-piece. A wee whi^e 


THE SENDING OF DANA DA. 311 

kitten, nearly blind, was looping and writhing 
itself between the clock and the candlesticks. 
That stopped all investigations or doubtings. 
Here was the Manifestation in the flesh. It 
was, so far as could be seen, devoid of purpose, 
but it was a Manifestation of undoubted authen¬ 
ticity. 

They drafted a Round Robin to the English¬ 
man, the backslider of old days, adjuring him in 
the interests of the Creed to explain whether 
there was any connection between the embodi¬ 
ment of some Egyptian God or other [I have 
forgotten the name] and his communication. 
They called the kitten Ra, or Toth, or Shem, or 
Noah, or something; and when Lone Sahib 
confessed that the first one had, at his most mis¬ 
guided instance, been drowned by the sweeper, 
they said consolingly that in his next life he 
would be a bounder,’’ and not even a rounder” 
of the lowest grade. These words may not be 
quite correct, but they express the sense of the 
house accurately. 

When the Englishman received the Round 
Robin—it came by post—he was startled and 


312 


IN BLACK AND WHITE. 


bewildered. He sent into the bazar for Dana Da, 
who read the letter and laughed. That is mj 
Sending/’ said he. told you I would work 
well. Now give me another ten rupees.” 

But what in the world is this gibberish about 
Egyptian Gods ? ” asked the Englishman. 

Cats !’ said Dana Da with a hiccough, for he 
had discovered the Englishman’s whisky bottle. 

Cats, and cats, and cats ! Never was such a 
Sending. A hundred of cats. Now give me ten 
more rupees and write as I dictate.” 

Dana Da’s letters was a curiosity. It bore the 
Englishman’ signature, and hinted at cats—at a 
Sending of Cats. The mere words on paper were 
creepy and uncanny to behold. 

What have you done, though?” said the 
Englishman ; I am as much in the dark as ever. 
Do you mean to say that you can actually send 
this absurd Sending you talk about ? ” 

Judge for yourself,” said Dana Da. What 
does that letter mean ?-—In a little time they will 
all be at my feet and yours, and I, 0 Glory, will 
be drugged or drunk aU day long.” 

Dana Da knew his people. 


THE SENDING OF DANA DA. 313 

When a man who hates cats wakes up in the 
morning and finds a little squirming kitten on his 
breast, or puts his hand into his ulster-pocket and 
finds a little half-dead kitten where his gloves 
should be, or opens his trunk and finds a vile 
kitten among his dress-shirts, or goes for a long 
ride with his mackintosh strapped on his saddle* 
bow and shakes a little squalling kitten from its 
folds when he opens it, or goes out to dinner and 
find a little blind kitten under his chair, or stays 
at home and finds a writhing kitten under the 
quilt, or wriggbng among his boots, or hanging, 
head downwards, in his tobacco-jar, or being 
mangled by his terrier in the veranda,—when 
such a man finds one kitten, neither more nor less, 
once a day in a place where no kitten rightly could 
or should be, he is naturally upset. When he dare 
not murder his daily trove because he believes it 
to be a Manifestation, an Emissary, an Embodi¬ 
ment, and half a dozen other things all out of the 
regular course of nature, he is more than upset, 
He is actually distressed. Some of Lone Sahib’s 
co-religionists thought that he was a highly 
favored individual; but many said that if he had 


314 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

treated the first kitten with proper respect—as 
suited a Toth-Ra-Tum-Sennacherib Embodiment 
-—all this trouble would have been averted. They 
compared him to the Ancient Mariner, but none 
the less they were proud of kirn and proud of 
the Englishman who had sent the Manifestation. 
They did not call it a Sending because Icelandic 
magic was not in their program. 

After sixteen kittens, that is to say after one 
fortnight, for there were three kittens on the 
first day to impress the fact of the Sending, the 
whole camp was uplifted by a letter—it came 
flying through a window—from the Old Man of 
the Mountains—the Head of all the Creed—ex¬ 
plaining the Manifestation in the most beautiful 
language and soaking up all the credit of it for 
himself. The Englishman, said the letter, was 
not there at all. He was a backslider without 
Power or Asceticism, who couldn’t even raise a 
table by force of volition, much less project an 
army of kittens through space. The entire ar¬ 
rangement, said the letter, was strictly orthodox, 
worked and sanctioned by the highest Authorities 
within the pale of the Creed. There w^as great 


THE SENDING OF DANA DA. 315 

joy at this, for some of the weaker brethren see¬ 
ing that an outsider who had been working on 
independent lines could create kittens, whereas 
their own rulers had never gone beyond crockery 
—and broken at that—were showing a desire to 
break line on their own trail. In fact, there was 
the promise of a schism. A second Kound Robin 
was drafted to the Englishman, beginning :— 0 
Scoffer,” and ending with a selection of curses 
from the Rites of Mizraim and Memphis and the 
Commination of Jugana who was a ‘^fifth- 
rounder,” upon whose name an upstart “ third- 
rounder” once traded. A papal excommunica¬ 
tion is a MUet-doux compared to the Commina¬ 
tion of Jugana. The Englishman had been 
proved under the hand and seal of the Old Man 
of the Mountains, to have appropriated Virtue 
and pretended to have Power which, in reality, 
belonged only to the Supreme Head. Naturally 
the Round Robin did not spare him. 

He handed the letter to Dana Da to translate 
into decent English. The effect on Dana Da 
was curious. At first he was furiously angry, 
and then ha laughed for five minutes. 


3 i 6 in black and white. 

had thought/’ he said, ^^that they would 
have come to me. In another week I would 
have shown that I sent the Sending, and they 
would have discrowned the Old Man of the 
Mountains who has sent this Sending of mine. 
Do you do nothing ? The time has come for me 
to act. Write as I dictate, and I will put them 
to shame. But give me ten more rupees.” 

At Dana Da’s dictation the Englishman wrote 
nothino* less than a formal challencfe to the Old 

o o 

Man of the Mountains. It Vw^ound up :—“ And 
if this Manifestation he from your hand, then let it 
go forward; but if it be from my hand, I will that 
the Sending shall cease in two days’ time. On 
that day there shall be twelve kittens and thence¬ 
forward none at all. The people shall judge 
between us.” This was signed by Dana Da, 
who added pentacles and pentagrams, and a crux 
ansata, and half a dozen swastikas, and a Traiple 
Tan to his name, just to show that he was all he 
laid claim to be. 

The challenge was read out to the gentlemen 
and ladies, and they remembered then that Dana 
Da had laughed at them some years ago. It was 


THE SENDING OF DANA DA. 317 

officially announced that the Old Man of the 
Mountains would treat the matter with contempt; 
Dana Da being an Independent Investigator with¬ 
out a single round ’’ at the back of him. But 
this did not soothe his people. They wanted to 
see a fight. They were very human for all their 
spirituality. Lone Sahib, who was really being 
worn out with kittens, submitted meekly to his 
fate. He felt that he was being kittened to 
prove the power of Dana Da,’’ as the poet 
says. 

When the stated day dawned, the shower of 
kittens began. Some were white and some were 
tabby, and all were about the same loathsome 
age. Three were on his hearthrug, three in his 
bathroom, and the other six turned up at inter¬ 
vals among the visitors who came to see the 
prophecy break down. Never was a more satis¬ 
factory Sending. On the next day there were 
no kittens, and the next day and all the other 
days were kittenless and quiet. The people mur¬ 
mured and looked to the Old Man of the Moun¬ 
tains for an explanation. A letter, written on a 
palm-leaf, dropped from the ceiling, but every 


3 i8 in black and white. 

one except Lone Sahib felt that letters were not 
what the occasion demanded. There should have 
been cats, there should have been cats,—full- 
groTO ones. The letter proved conclusive^ that 
there had been a hitch in the Psychic Current 
which, colliding with a Dual Identity, had inter¬ 
fered with the Percipient Activity all along the 
main line. The kittens were still going on, hut 
owing to some failure in the Developing Fluid, 
they were not materialized. The air was thick 
with letters for a few days afterwards. Unseen 
hands played Gluck and Beethoven on finger- 
bowls and clock-shades; but all men felt that 
Psychic Life was a mockery without Materialized 
Kittens. Even Lone Sahib shouted with the 
majority on this head. Dana Da’s letters were 
very insulting, and if he had then offered to lead 
a new departure, there is no knowing what might 
not have happened. 

But Dana Da was dying of whisky and opium 
in the Englisnman’s godown, and had small heart 
for new creeds. 

“ They have been put to shame,’’ said he. 

Never was such a Sending. It has killed me.” 


THE SENDING OF DANA DA, 


319 


Nonsense/* said the Englishman, you are 
going oo die, Dana Da, and that sort of stuff must 
be left behind. I’ll admit that you have made 
some queer things come about. Tell me honestly, 
now, how was it done ? ” 

^^Give me ten more rupees,” said Dana Da 
faintly, and if I die before I spend them, bury 
them with me.’* The silver was counted out 
while Dana Da was fighting with Death. His 
hand closed upon the money and he smiled a grim 
smile. 

Bend low,” he whispered. The Englishman 
bent. 

Bunnia — Mission-school — expelled — 6ox- 
wallah (peddler)—Ceylon pearl-merchant—all 
mine English education—outcasted, and made up 
name Dana Da—^England with American thought¬ 
reading man and—and—^you gave me ten rupees 
several times—I gave the Sahib’s bearer two-eight 
a month for cats—little, little cats. I wrote, and 
he put them about—very clever man. Very few 
kittens now in the hazar. Ask Lone Sahib’s 
sweeper’s wife.” 

So saying, Dana Da gasped and passed awav 


320 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

into a land where, i£ all be true, there are no 
materializations and the making 6£ new creeds is 
discouraged. 

But consider the gorgeous simplicity o£ it all 1 


ON THE CITY WALL 


321 


ON THE CITY WALL. 


’ *Then she let them down by a cord through the window} 
for her Iiouse was upon the town wall, and she dwelt upon the 
wall .”—Joshua ii. 15. 

Lalun is a member of the most ancient profes¬ 
sion in the world. Lilith was her very-great 
grandmamma, and that was before the days of 
Eve as every one knows. In the West, people 
say rude things about Lalun’s profession, and 
write lectures about it, and distribute the lectures 
to young persons in order that Morality may be 
preserved. In the East where the profession is 
hereditary, descending from mother to daughter, 
nobody writes lectures or takes any notice, and 
that is a distinct proof of the inability of the 
East to manage its own affairs. 

Lalun’s real husband, for even ladies of Lalun’s 
profession in the East must have husbands, was a 

great, big jujube-tree. Her mamma, who had 

21 



322 


IN BLACK AND WHITE 


married a fig, spent ten thousand rupees on 
Lalun’s wedding, which was blessed by forty-seven 
clergymen of Mamma's church, and distributed 
five thousand rupees in charity to the poor. And 
that was the custom of the land. The advantages 
of having a jujube-tree for a husband are obvious- 
You cannot hurt his feelings, and he looks iim 
posing. 

Lalun’s husband stood on the plain outside the 
City walls, and Lalun’s house was upon the east 
wall facing the river. If you fell from the broad 
window-seat you dropped thirty feet sheer into 
the City Ditch, But if you stayed where you 
should and looked forth, you saw all the cattle of 
the City being driven down to water, the students 
of the Government College playing cricket, the 
high grass and trees that fringed the river-bank, 
the great sandbars that ribbed the river, the red 
tombs of dead Emperors beyond the river, and 
very far away through the blue heat-haze, a glint 
of the snows of the Himalayas. 

Wali Dad used to lie in the window-seat for 
hours at a time watching this view. He was a 
young Muhammadan who was suffering acutely 


ON THE CITY WALL. 


323 

from education of the English variety and knew 
it. His father had sent him to a Mission-school 
to get wisdom, and Wali Dad had absorbed more 
than ever his father or the Missionaries intended 
he should. When his father died, Wali Dad was 
independent and spent two years experimenting 
with the creeds of the Earth and reading books 
that are of no use to anybody. 

After he had made an unsuccessful attempt to 
enter the Koman Catholic Church and the Pres¬ 
byterian fold at the same time (the Missionaries 
found him out and called him names, but thi;y 
didn’t understand his trouble), he discovered 
Lalun on the City wall and became the most con¬ 
stant of her few admirers. He possessed a head 
that English artists at home would rave over and 
paint amid impossible surroundings—a face that 
female novelists would use with delight through 
nine hundred pages. In reality he was only a 
clean-bred young Muhammadan, with pencilled 
eyebrows, small-cut nostrils, little feet and hands, 
and a very tired look in Ms eyes. By virtue of 
his twenty-two years he had grown a neat black 
beard which he stroked with pride and kept deli- 


324 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

cately scented. His life seemed to be divided 
between borrowing books from me and making 
love to Lalun in the window-seat. He composed 
songs about her, and some of the songs are sung 
to this day in the City from the Street of the 
Mutton-Butchers to the Copper-Smiths’ ward. 

One song, the prettiest of all, says that the 
beauty of Lalun w^as so great that it troubled the 
hearts of the British Government and caused 
them to lose their peace of mind. That is the 
way the song is sung in the streets ; but, if you 
examine it carefully and know the key to the ex¬ 
planation, you will find that there are three puns 
in it—on beauty,” heart,” and peace of 
mind,”—so that it runs:By the subtlety of 
Lalun the administration of the Government was 
troubled and it lost such and such a man.” When 
Wali Dad sings that song his eyes glow like hot 
coals, and Lalun leans back among the cushions 
and throws bunches of jasmine-buds at Wali Dad. 

But first it is necessary to explain something 
about the Supreme Government which is above 
all and below all and behind all. Gentlemen 
come from England, spend a few weeks in India, 


ON THE CITY WALL. 


32s 

walk round this great Sphinx of the Plains, and 
write books upon its ways and its works, denounc¬ 
ing or praising it as their own ignorance prompts. 
Consequently all the world knows how the Su¬ 
preme Government conducts itself. But no one, 
not even the Supreme Government, knows every¬ 
thing about the administration of the Empire. 
Year by year England sends out fresh drafts for 
the first fighting-line, which is officially called the 
Indian Civil Service. These die, or kill them¬ 
selves by overwork, or are worried to death or 
broken in health and hope in order that the land 
may be protected from death and sickness, famine 
and war, and may eventually become capable of 
standing alone. It will never stand alone, but 
the idea is a pretty one, and men are willing to 
die for it, and yearly the work of pushing and 
coaxing and scolding and petting the country into 
good living goes forward. If an advance be 
made all credit is given to the native, while the 
Englishmen stand back and wipe their foreheads. 
If a failure occurs the Englishmen step forward 
and take the blame. Overmuch tenderness of 
this kind has bred a strong belief among many 


326 


IN BLACK AND WHITE. 


natives that the native is capable of administer^ 
ing the country, and many devout Englishmen 
believe this also, because the theory is stated in 
beautiful English with all the latest political 
garnish. 

There be other men who, though uneducated, 
see visions and dream dreams, and they, too, hope 
to administer the country in their own way—that 
is to say, with a garnish of Red Sauce. Such 
men must exist among two hundred million people, 
and, if they are not attended to, may cause trou¬ 
ble and even break the great idol called Pax 
Britannic, which, as the newspapers say, lives 
between Peshawur and Cape Comorin. Were the 
Day of Doom to dawn to-morrow, you would find 
the Supreme Government taking measures to 
allay popular excitement ” and putting guards 
upon the graveyards that the Dead might troop 
forth orderly. The youngest Civilian would 
arrest Gabriel on his own responsibility if the 
Archangel could not produce a Deputy Commis¬ 
sioner’s permission to make music or other 
noises ” as the form says. 

Whence it is easy to see that mere men of the 


ON THE CITY WALL. 


327 


flesh who would create a tumult must faie hadly 
at the hands of the Supreme Government And 
they do. There is no outward sign of excite¬ 
ment ; there is no confusion; there is no knowl¬ 
edge. When due and sufficient reasons have 
been given, weighed, and approved, the machinery 
moves forward, and the dreamer of dreams and 
the seer of visions is gone from his friends and 
following. He enjoys the hospitality of Govern¬ 
ment ; there is no restriction upon his movements 
within certain limits ; but he must not confer any 
more with his brother dreamers. Once in every 
six months the Supreme Government assures it¬ 
self that he is well and takes formal acknowledg¬ 
ment of his existence. No one protests against 
his detention, because the few people who know 
about it are in deadly fear of seeming to know 
him ; and never a single newspaper takes up his 
case ’’ or organizes demonstrations on his behalf, 
because the newspapers of India have got behind 
that lying proverb which says the Pen is mightier 
than the Sword, and can walk delicately and with 
circumspection. 

So now you know as much as you ought about 


32S IN BLACK AND WHITE 

Wall Dad, the educational mixture, vid the Sm 
preme Government. 

Lalun has not yet been described. She would 
need, so Wall Dad says, a thousand pens of gold 
and ink scented with musk. She has been var/ 
ously compared to the Moon, the Dil Sagat Lake, 
a spotted quail, a gazelle, the Sun on ine Desert 
of Kutch, the Dawn, the Stars, and the young 
bamboo. These comparisons imply that she is 
beautiful exceedingly, according to the native 
standards, which are practically tf.e same as those 
of the West. Her eyes are black and her hair is 
black, and her eyebrows are blat k as leeches ; her 
mouth is tiny and says witty things; her hands 
are tiny and have saved much money ; her feet 
are tiny and have trodden on the naked hearts of 
many men. But, as Wali Dad sings:—Lalun 
is Lalun, and when you have said that, you 
have only come to the Beginnings of Knowl¬ 
edge.’’ 

The little house on the City wall was just big 
enough to hold Lalun, and her maid, and a pussy¬ 
cat with a silver collar. A big pink and blue 
cut-glass chandelier hung from the ceiling of the 


ON THE CITY WALL. 


329 

reception-room. A petty Nawab had given Lalun 
the horror, and she kept it for politeness’ sake. 
The floor of the room was of polished chunam, 
white as curds. A latticed window of carved 
wood was set in one wall; there was a profusion 
of squabby pluffy cushions and fat carpets every¬ 
where, and Lalun’s silver huqa^ studded with 
turquoises, had a special little carpet all to its 
shining self. Wali Dad was nearly as permanent 
a fixture as the chandelier. As I have said, he 
lay in the window-seat and meditated on Life and 
Death and Lalun—’specially Lalun. The feet of 
the young men of the City tended to her doorways 
and then—retired, for Lalun was a particular 
maiden, slow of speech, reserved of mind, and not 
in the least inclined to orgies which were nearly 
certain to end in strife. If I am of no value, I 
am unworthy of this honor,” said Lalun. If I 
am of value, they are unworthy of Me.” And 
that was a crooked sentence. 

In the long hot nights of latter April and May 
all the City seemed to assemble in Lalun’s little 
white room to smoke and to talk. Shiahs of the 
grimmest and most uncompromising persuasion ; 


330 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

Sufis who had lost all belief in the Prophet and 
retained but little in God; wandering Hindu 
priests passing southward on their way to the Cen¬ 
tral India fairs and other affairs; Pundits in black 
gowns, with spectacles on their noses and undi¬ 
gested wisdom in their insides; bearded headmen 
of the wards; Sikhs with all the details of the 
latest ecclesiastical scandal in the Golden Temple; 
red-eyed priests from beyond the Border, looking 
like trapped wolves and talking like ravens; 
M. A.’s of the University, very superior and very 
voluble—all these people and more also you might 
find in the white room. Wali Dad lay in the 
window-seat and listened to the talk. 

‘‘It is Lalun^s salon ,said Wali Dad to me, 
“ and it is electic—is not that the word ? Out¬ 
side of a Freemason’s Lodge I have never seen 
such gatherings. There I dined once with a Jew 
—a Yahoudi! ” He spat into the City Ditch 
with apologies for allowing national feeling to 
overcome him. “ Though I have lost every be¬ 
lief in the world,’^ said he, “and try to be proud 
of my losing, I cannot help hating a Jew. Lalun 
admits no Jews here.” 


ON THE CITY WALL. 331 

But what in the world do all these men do ? 

I asked. 

The curse of our country/’ said Wali Dad. 

They talk. It is like the Athenians—always 
hearing and telling some new thing. Ask the 
Pearl and she will show you how much she knows 
of the news of the City and the Province. Laiun 
knows everything.” 

Laiun/’ I said at random—she was talking to 
a gentleman of the Kurd persuasion who had 
come in from God-knows-where—when does the 
175th Regiment go to Agra? ” 

‘^It does not go at all/' said Laiun, without 
turning her head. They have ordered the 118th 
to go in its stead. That Regiment goes to Luck¬ 
now in three months, unless they give a fresh 
order." 

That is so," said Wali Dad, without a shade 
of doubt. Can you with your telegrams and 
your newspapers, do better ? Always hearing 
and telling some new thing," he went on. My 
friend, has your God ever smitten a European 
nation for gossiping in the bazar ? India has 
gossiped for centuries—always standing in the 


332 


IN BLACK AND WHITE. 


bazars until the soldiers go by. Therefore . . . 
you are here to-day instead of starving in your 
own country, and I am not a Muhammadan—I 
am a Product—a Demnition Product. That also 
t owe to you and yours : that I cannot make an 
end to my sentence without quoting from your 
authors.” He pulled at the huqa and mourned, 
half feelingly, half in earnest, for the shattered 
hopes of his youth. Wali Dad was always mourn¬ 
ing over something or other—the country of 
which he despaired, or the creed in which he had 
lost faith, or the life of the English which he 
could by no means understand. 

Lalun never mourned. She played little songs 
on the sitar, and to hear her sing, ^^0 Peacock, 
cry again ,was always a fresh pleasure. She 
knew all the songs that have ever been sung, from 
the v/ar-songs of the South that make the old men 
angry with the young men and the young men 
angry with the State, to the love-songs of the 
North where the swords whinny-whicker like an¬ 
gry kites in the pauses between the kisses, and 
the Passes fill with armed men, and the Lover is 
torn from his Beloved and cries, Ai, Ai, Ai! 


ON THE CITY WALL. 


333 


evermore. She knew how to make up tobacco 
for the huqa so that it smelt like the Gates of 
Paradise and wafted you gently through them 
She could embroider strange things in gold and 
silver, and dance softly with the moonlight when 
it came in at the window. Also she knew the 
hearts of men, and the heart of the City, and 
whose wives were faithful and whose untrue, and 
more of the secrets of the Government Offices than 
are good to be set down in this place. Nasiban, 
her maid, said that her jewelry was worth ten 
thousand pounds, and that, some night, a thief 
would enter and murder her for its possession, 
but Lalun said that all the City would tear that 
thief limb from limb, and that he, whoever he 
was, knew it. 

So she took her sitar and sat in the window* 
seat and sang a song of old days that had been 
sung by a girl of her profession in an armed camp 
on the eve of a great battle—the day before the 
Fords of the Jumna ran red and SIvaji fled fifty 
miles to Delhi with a Toorkh stallion at his horse’s 
tail and another Lalun on his saddle-bow. It was 
what men call a Mahratta laonee^ and it said:— 


334 


IN BLACK AND WHITE. 


Their warrior forces Chimnajee 
Before the Peishwa led, 

The Children of the Sun and Fire 
Behind him turned and fled. 

And the chorus said:— 

With them there fought who rides so free 
With sword and turban red, 

The warrior-youth who earns his fee 
At peril of his head. 

At peril of his head/’ said Wali Dad in Eng¬ 
lish to me. Thanks to your Government, all 
our heads are protected, and with the educa¬ 
tional facilities at my command ”—his eyes 
twinkled wickedly—I might be a distinguished 
member of the local administration. Perhaps, 
in time, I might even be a member of a Legis¬ 
lative Council.” 

Don’t speak English,” said Lalun, bending 
over her sitar afresh. The chorus went out 
from the City wall to the blackened wall of Fort 
Amara which dominates the City. No man knows 
the precise extent of Fort Amara. Three kings 
built it hundreds of years ago, and they say that 
there are miles of underground rooms beneath 
its walls. It is peopled with many ghosts, a de¬ 
tachment of Garrison Artillery and a Company of 


ON THE CITY WALL. 335 

Infantry. In its prime it held ten thousand men 
and filled its ditches with corpses. 

“ At peril of his head/’ sang Lalun again and 
again. 

A head moved on one of the Ramparts—the 
gray head of an old man—and a voice, rough as 
shark-skin on a sword-hilt, sent back the last line of 
the chorus and broke into a song that I could not 
understand, though Lalun and Wali Dad listened 
intently. 

What is it ? ” I asked. Who is it ? ” 

‘^A consistent man,” said Wali Dad. ‘‘He 
fought you in ’46, when he was a warrior-youth ; 
re-fought you in ’57, and he tried to fight you in 
’71, but you had learned the trick of blowing men 
from guns too well. Now he is old; but he 
would still fight if he could.” 

“Is he a Wahabi, then? Why should he 
answer to a Mahratta laonee if he be Wahabi— 
or Sikh ? ” said I. 

“I do not know,” said Wali Dad. “He has 
lost, perhaps, his religion. Perhaps he wishes to 
be a King. Perhaps he is a King. I do not 
know his name.” 


IN BLACK AND WHITE. 


336 

“ That is a lie, Wall Dad. If you know his 
career you must know his name.’’ 

That is quite true. I belong to a nation of 
liars. I would rather not tell you his name. 
Think for yourself.” 

Laliin finished her song, pointed to the Fort 
and said simply : Khem Singh.” 

H’m,” said Wali Dad. If the Pearl chooses 
to tell you, the Pearl is a fool.” 

I translated to Lalun, who laughed. I choose 
to tell what I choose to tell. They kept Khem 
Singh in Burma,” said she. ‘^They kept him 
there for many years until his mind was changed 
in him. So great was the kindness of the Govern¬ 
ment. Finding this, they sent him back to his 
own country that he might look upon it before he 
died. He is an old man, but when he looks upon 
this his country his memory will come. More¬ 
over, there be many who remember him.” 

He is an Interesting Survival,” said Wali Dad, 
pulling at the hiiqa, He returns to a country 
now full of educational and political reform, but, 
as the Pearl says, there are many who remember 
him. He was once a great man. There will 


ON THE CITY WALL. 


337 


never be any more great men in India. They 
will all, when they are boys, go whoring after 
strange gods, and they will become citizens 
—^ fellow-citizens ’—^ illustrious fellow-citizens.* 
What is it that the native papers call them?’* 

Wali Dad seemed to be in a very bad temper. 
Lalun looked out of the window and smiled into 
the dust-haze. I vrent away thinking about 
Khem Singh who had once made history with 
a thousand followers, and would have been a 
princeling but for the power of the Supreme 
Government aforesaid. 

The Senior Captain Commanding Fort Amara 
was away on leave, but the Subaltern, his Deputy, 
had drifted down to the Club where I found him 
and inquired of him whether it was really true that 
a political prisoner had been added to tlie attractions 
of the Fort. The Subaltern explained at great 
length, for this was the first time that he had 
held Command of the Fort and his glory la;y 
heavy upon him. 

^^Yes,” said he, ^^a man was sent in to me 
about a week ago from down the line—a thorough 
jjentleman whoever he is. Of course I did all 
17 


338 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

I could for him. He had his two servants and 
some silver cooking-pots, and he looked for all 
the world like a native officer. I called him 
Siibadar Sahib ; just as well to be on the safe 
side, y’know. ^ Look here, Subadar Sahib,’ 
I said, ^ you’re handed over to my authority, and 
I’m supposed to guard you. Now I don’t want 
to make your life hard, but you must make things 
easy for me. All the Fort is at your disposal, 
from the flagstaff to the dry ditch, and I shall be 
happy to entertain you in any way I can, but you 
mustn’t take advantage of it. Give me your 
word that you won’t try to escape, Subadar Sabib, 
and I’ll give you my word that you shall have no 
heavy guard put over you.’ I thought the best 
way of getting at him was by going at him 
straight, y’know; and it was, by Jove ! The old 
man gave me his word, and moved about the Fort 
as contented as a sick crow. He’s a rummy chap 
—always asking to be told where he is and what 
the buildings about him are. I had to sign a 
slip of blue paper when he turned up, acknowledg¬ 
ing receipt of his body and all that, and I’m 
responsible, y’know, that he doesn’t get away 


ON THK CITY WALL. 


339 


Queer thing, though, looking after a Johnnie old 
enough to be your grandfather, isn’t it ? Come 
to the Fort one of these days and see him?” 

For reasons which will appear, I never went to 
the Fort while Khem Singh was then within its 
walls. I knew him only as a gray head seen from 
Lalun’s window—a gray head and a harsh voice. 
But natives told me that, day by day, as he looked 
upon the fair lands round Amara, his memory 
came back to him and, with it, the old hatred 
against the Government that had been nearly 
effaced in far-off Burma. So he raged up and 
down the West face of the Fort from morning: 
till noon and from evening till night, devising 
vain things in his heart and croaking war-songs 
when Laliin sang on the City wall. As he grew 
more acquainted with the Subaltern he unbur¬ 
dened his old heart of some of the passions that 
had withered it. ^^Sahib,” he used to say, tapping 
his stick against the parapet, when I was a young 
man I was one of twenty thousand horsemen who 
came out of the City and rode round the plain 
here. Sahib, I was the leader of a hundred, 
then of a thousand, then of five thousand, and 


340 


IN BLACK AND WHITE. 


now ! ”—he pointed to his two servants. " But 
from the beginning to to-day I would cut the 
throats of all the Sahibs in the land if I could. 
Hold me fast, Sahib, lest 1 get away and return 
to those who would follow me. I forgot them 
when I was in Burma, but now that I am in my 
own country again, I remember everything." 

Do you remember that you have given me 
your Honor not to make your tendance a hard 
matter ? ” said the Subaltern. 

Yes, to you, only to you, Sahib," said Khem 
Singh, To you because you are of a pleasant 
countenance. If my turn comes again, Sahib, I 
will not hang you nor cut your throat." 

“ Thank you," said the Subaltern gravely, as 
he looked along the line of guns that could pound 
the City to powder in half an hour. Lefe us go 
into our own quarters, Khem Singh. Come and 
talk with me after dinner." 

Khem Singh would sit on his own cushion at 
the Subaltern’s feet, drinking heavy, scented 
anise-seed brandy in great gulps, and telling 
strange stories of Fort Amara, which had been a 
palace in the old days, of Begums and Ranees 


ON THE CITY WALL. 


341 


tortured to death—ay, in the very vaulted cham¬ 
ber that now served as a Mess-room ; would tell 
stories of Sobraon that made the Subaltern's cheeks 
flush and tingle with pride of race, and of the Kuka 
rising from which so much was expected and the 
foreknowledge of which was shared by a hundred 
thousand souls. But he never told tales of *57 
because, as he said, he was the Subaltern’s guest, 
and ’57 is a year that no man, Black or White, 
cares to speak of. Once only, when the anise- 
seed brandy had slightly affected his head, he 
said :—Sahib, speaking now of a matter which 
lay between Sobraon and the affair of the Kukas, 
it was ever a wonder to us that you stayed your 
hand at all, and that, having stayed it, you did 
not make the land one prison. Now I hear from 
without that you do great honor to all men of our 
country and by your own hands are destroying 
the Terror of your Name which is your strong 
rock and defence. This is a foolish thing. Will 
oil and water mix? Now in '57—” 

I was not bom then, Subadar Sahib," said the 
Subaltern, and Khem Singh reeled to his quarters. 

The Subaltern would tell me of these con versa- 


342 


IN BLACK AND WHITE. 


tions at the Club, and my desire to see Kliem 
Singh increased. But Wali Dad, sitting in the 
window-seat of the house on the City wall, said 
that it would be a cruel thing to do, and Lalun 
pretended that I preferred the society of a griz¬ 
zled old Sikh to hers. 

Here is tobacco, here is talk, here are many 
friends and all the news of the City, and, above 
all, here is myself. I will tell you stories and 
sing you songs, and Wali Dad will talk his Eng¬ 
lish nonsense in your ears. Is that worse than 
watching the caged animal yonder ? Go to-mor¬ 
row then, if you must, but to-day such and such 
an one will be here, and he will speak of wonder¬ 
ful things.’^ 

It happened that To-morrow never came, and 
the warm heat of the latter Rains gave place to the 
chill of early October almost before I was aware 
of the flight of the year. The Captain commaiul- 
ing the Fort returned from leave and took over 
charge of Khem Singh according to the laws of 
seniority. The Captain was not a nice man. He 
called all natives niggers,” which, besides being 
extremely bad form, shows gross ignorance. 


ON THE CITY WALL. 343 

What’s the use of telling off two Tommies to 
watch that old nigger ? ” said he. 

I fancy it soothes his vanity/’ said the Suh 
altern. The men are ordered to keep well out 
of his way, but he takes them as a tribute to his 
importance, poor old beast.” 

I won^t have Line men taken off regular guards 
in this way. Put on a couple of Native Infantry.” 

Sikhs ? ” said the Subaltern, lifting his eye¬ 
brows. 

Sikhs, Pathans, Dogras—they’re all alike, 
these black vermin,” and the Captain talked to 
Khem Singh in a manner which hurt that old 
gentleman’s feelings. Fifteen years before, when 
he had been caught for the second time, every 
one looked upon him as a sort of tiger. Pie liked 
being regarded in this light. But he forgot that 
the world goes forward in fifteen years, and many 
Subalterns are promoted to Captaincies. 

The Captain-pig is in charge of the Fort ? ” 
said Khem Singh to his native guard every morn¬ 
ing. And the native guard said:—Yes, Suba- 
dar Sahib,” in deference to his age and his air 
of distinction; but they did not know who he was. 


IN BLACK AND WHITE. 


344 

Ill those days the gathering in Lalun’s little 
white room was always large and talked more 
mightily than before. 

^^The Greeks,” said Wali Dad, who had been 
borrowing my books, the inhabitants of the city 
of Athens, where they were always hearing and 
telling some new thing, rigorously secluded their 
women—who were mostly fools. Hence the 
glorious institution of the heterodox women—is it 
not ?—who were amusing and not fools. All the 
Greek philosophers delighted in their company. 
Tell me, my friend, how it goes now in Greece 
and the other places upon the Continent of Eu¬ 
rope. Are your women-folk also fools? 

^‘Wali Dad,” I said, ‘^you never speak to us 
about your women-folk and v/e never speak 
about ours to you. That is the bar between 
us.” 

Yes,” said Wali Dad, it is curious to think 
that our common meeting-place should be here, in 
the house of a common—how do you call her f ” 
He pointed with the pipe-mouth to Lalun. 

Lalun is nothing else but Lalun,” I said, and 
that was perfectly true. But if you took your 


ON THE CITY WALL. 345 

place in the world, Wali Dad, and gav© np dream¬ 
ing dreams—” 

I might Tvear an English coat and trousers. 
I might be a leading Muhammadan pleader. I 
might even be received at the Commissioner’s 
tennis-parties where the English stand on one side 
and the natives on the other, in order to promote 
social intercourse throughout the Empire. Heart’s 
Heart,” said he to Lalun quickly, the Sahib says 
that I ought to quit you.” 

The Sahib is always talking stupid talk,” re¬ 
turned Lalun with a laugh. In tiiis house I 
am a Queen and thou art a King. The Sahib ” 
—she put her arms above her head and thought 
for a moment—^Hhe Sahib shall be our Vizier— 
thine and mine, Wali Dad, because he has said 
that thou shouldst leave me.” 

Wali Dad laughed immoderately, and I laughed 
too. Be it so,” said he. My friend, are you 
willing to take this lucrative Government appoint¬ 
ment ? Lalun, what shall his pay be ? ” 

But Lalun began to sing, and for the rest ol 
the time there was no hope of getting a sensible 
answer from her or Wali Dad. When the one 


34^ IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

stopped, the other began to quote Persian poetry 
with a triple pun in every other line. Some of it 
was not strictly proper, but it was all very funny, 
and it only came to an end when a fat person in 
black, with gold pince~neZy sent up his name to 
Lalun, and Wali Dad dragged me into the twink¬ 
ling night to walk in a big rose-garden and talk 
heresies about Religion and Government and a 
man’s Career in life. 

The Mohurrum, the great mourning-festival of 
the Muhammadans, was close at hand, and the 
things that Wali Dad said about religious fanat¬ 
icism would have secured his expulsion from the 
loosest-thinking Muslim sect. There were the 
rose-bushes round us, the stars above us, and 
from every quarter of the City came the boom of 
the big Mohurrum drums. You must know that 
the City is divided in fairly equal proportions 
between the Hindus and the Musalmans, and 
where both creeds belong to the fighting races, 
a big religious festival gives ample chance for 
trouble. When they can—that is to say when 
the authorities are weak enough to allow it—the 
Hindus do their best to arrange some minor 


ON THE CITY WALL. 


347 


feast-day of their own in time to clash with the 
period of general mourning for the martyrs 
Hasan and Hussain, the heroes of ihe Mohurrum. 
Gilt and painted paper presentations of their tombs 
are borne with shouting and wailing, music, 
torches and yells, through the principal thorough¬ 
fares of the City; which fakements are called 
tazias. Their passage is rigorously laid down 
beforehand by the Police, and detachments or 
Police accompany each tazia, lest the Hindus 
should throw bricks at it and the peace of the 
Queen and the heads of Her loyal subjects should 
thereby be broken. Mohurrum time in a fight¬ 
ing town means anxiety to all the officials, be¬ 
cause, if a riot breaks out, the officials and not 
the rioters are held responsible. The former 
must foresee everything, and while not making 
their precautions ridiculously elaborate, must see 
that they are at least adequate, 

^‘Listen to the drums!’’ said Wali Dad. 

That is the heart of the people—empty and 
making much noise. How, think you, will the 
Mohurrum go this year ? I think that there will 
be troubla,” 


348 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

He turned down a side-street and left me alone 
with the stars and sleepy Police patrol. Then I 
went to bed and dreamed that Wali Dad had 
sacked the City and I was made Vizier, with La- 
lun’s silver huqa for mark of office. 

All day the Mohurrum drums beat in the City, 
and all day deputations of tearful Hindu gentle¬ 
men besieged the Deputy Commissioner with 
assurances that they would be murdered ere next 
dawning by the Muhammadans. Which,” said 
the Deputy Commissioner, in confidence to the 
Head of Police, is a pretty fair indication that 
the Hindus are going to make ’emselves unpleas¬ 
ant. I think we can arrange a little surprise for 
them. I have given the heads of both Creeds 
fair warning. If they choose to disregard it, so 
much the worse for them.” 

There was a large gathering in Lalun’s house 
that night, but of men that I had never seen be¬ 
fore, if I except the fat gentleman in black with 
i\iQgo\({ pince-nez, Wali Dad lay in the window- 
seat, more bitterly scornful of his Faith and its 
manifestations than I had ever known him. La- 
lun^s maid was very busy cutting up and mixing 


ON THE CITY WALL. 


349 

tobacco for the guests. We could hear the 
thunder of the drums as the processions accom* 
panying each tazia marched to the central gather- 
ing-place in the plain outside the City, pre¬ 
paratory to their triumphant re-entry and circuit 
within the walls. All the streets seemed ablaze 
with torches, and only Fort Amara was black and 
silent. 

When the noise of the drums ceased, no one in 
the white room spoke for a time. The first 
tazia has moved off,” said Wah Dad, looking to 
the plain. 

That is very early,” said the man with the 
pince-iiez, It is only half-past eight.” The 
company rose and departed. 

Some of them were men from Ladakh,” said 
Lalun, when the last had gone. They brought 
me brick-tea such as the Russians sell, and a tea- 
urn from Peshawur. Show me, now, how the 
English 3Iemsahihs make tea.” 

The brick-tea was abominable. When it was 
finished Wali Dad suggested a descent into the 
streets. I am nearly sure that there will be 
trouble to-night,” he said. All the City thinks 


350 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

SO, and Vox Populi is Vox Deu as the Babus 
say. Now I tell you that at the comer of the 
Padshahi Gate you will find my horse all this 
night if you want to go about Miid to see things. 
It is a most disgraceful exhibition. Where is the 
pleasure of saying ^ Ya Hasan, Ya Hussain^ 
twenty thousand times in a night ? 

All the processions—there were two and twen¬ 
ty of them—were now well within the City walls. 
The drums were beating afresh, the crowd were 
howling YaHassan ! Ya Hassain ! ’’ and beat¬ 
ing their breasts, the brass bands were playing their 
loudest, and at every corner where space allowed, 
Muhammadan preachers were telling the lamen¬ 
table story of the death of the Martyrs. It was 
Impossible to move except with the crowd, for the 
streets were not more than twenty feet wide. In 
the Hindu quarters the shutters of all the shops 
were up and cross-barred. As the first tazia, a 
gorgeous erection ten feet high, was borne aloft 
on the shoulders of a score of stout men into the 
semi-darkness of the Gully of the Horsemen, a 
brickbat crashed through its talc and tinsel sides. 

^^Into thy hands, 0 Lord!’’ murmured Wali 


ON THE CITY WALL. 


3Si 

Dad profanely, as a yell went up from behind, and 
a native officer of police jammed his horse through 
the crowd. Another brickbat followed, and the 
tazia staggered and swayed where it had stopped. 

Go on 1 In the name of the Sirkar, go for¬ 
ward ! ” shouted the Policeman, but there was an 
ugly cracking and splintering of shutters, and the 
crowd halted, with oaths and growlings, before the 
house whence the brickbat had been thrown. 

Then, without any warning, broke the storm— 
not only in the Gully of the Horsemen, but in half a 
dozen other places. The tazias rocked like ships 
at sea, the long pole-torches dipped and rose around 
them while the men shouted;—“ The Hindus are 
dishonoring the tazias ! Strike ! Strike ! Into 
their temples for the Faith! The six or eight 
Policemen with each tazia drew their batons, and 
struck as long as they could, in the hope of forcing 
the mob forward, but they were overpowered, and 
as contingents of Hindus poured into the streets, 
the fight became general. Half a mile away where 
the tazias were yet untouched the drums and 
the shrieks of Ta Hasan! Ya Hussain ! ” 
continued, but not for long. The priests at the 


352 


IN BLACK AND WHITE. 


corners of the streets knocked the legs from the 
bedsteads that supported their pulpits and smote 
for the Faith, while stones fell from the silent 
houses upon friend and foe, and the packed streets 
bellowed :—Din ! Din ! Din ” A tazia 
caught fire, and was dropped for a flaming barrier 
between Hindus and Musalman at the corner of 
the Gully. Then the crowd surged forward, and 
Wali Dad drew me close to the stone pillar of a 
well. 

It was intended from the beo^inninof! ” he 
shouted in my ear, with more heat than blank 
unbelief should be guilty of. The bricks were 
carried up to the houses beforehand. These swine 
of Hindus ! We shall be gutting kine in their 
temples to-night! ’’ 

Tazia after tazia, some burning, others torn to 
pieces, hurried past us and the mob with them, 
howhng, shrieking, and striking at the house 
doors in their flight. At last we saw the reason 
of the rush. Hugonin, the Assistant District Su¬ 
perintendent of Police, a boy of twenty, had got 
together thirty constables and was forcing the 
crowd through the streets. His old gray Police- 


ON THE CITY WALL. 353 

horse showed no sign of uneasiness as it was 
squared breast-on into the crowd, and the long 
dog-whip with which he had armed himself was 
never still. 

They know we haven’t enough Police to hold 
’em ” he cried as he passed me, mopping a cut on 
his face. They Imow we haven’t! Aren’t any 
of the men from the Club coming down to help ? 
Get on, you sons of burnt fathers 1 ” The dog- 
whip cracked across the writhing backs, and the 
constables smote afresh with baton and gun-butt. 
With these passed the lights and the shouting and 
Wali Dad began to swear under his breath. 
From Fort Amara shot up a single rocket; then 
two side by side. It was the signal for troops. 

Petitt, the Deputy Commissioner, covered with 
dust and sweat, but calm and gently smiling, 
cantered up the clean-swept street in rear of the 
main body of the rioters. ‘‘ No one killed yet,” 
he shouted. I’ll keep ’em on the run till dawn ! 
Don’t let ’em halt, Hugonin ! Trot ’em about 
till the troops come.” 

The science of the defense lay solely in keep¬ 
ing the mob on the move. If they had breath- 
23 


354 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

ing-space they would halt and fire a house, and 
then the work of restoring order would be more 
difficult, to say the least of it. Flames have the 
same effect on a crowd as blood has on a wild 
beast. 

Word had reached the Club and men in even* 
ing*dress were beginning to show themselves and 
lend a hand in heading off and breaking up the 
shouting masses with stirrup-leathers, whips, or 
chance-found staves. They were not very often 
attacked, for the rioters had sense enough to 
know that the death of a European would not 
mean one hanging but many, and possibly the 
appearance of the thrice-dreaded Artillery. The 
clamor in tlie City redoubled. The Hindus had 
descended into the streets in real earnest and ere 
long the mob returned. It was a strange sight. 
There were no tazias —only their riven platforms 
—and there were no Police. Here and there a 
City dignitary, Hindu or Muhammadan, was 
vainly imploring his co-religionists to keep quiet 
and behave themselves—advice for which his 
white beard was pulled with contumely. Then a 
native officer of Police, unhorsed but still using 


ON THE CITY WALL. 


355 

his spurs with effect, would he seen home along 
in the throng, warning all the world of the danger 
of insulting the Government. Everywhere were 
men striking aimlessly with sticks, grasping each 
other by the throat, howling and foaming with 
rage, or beating with their bare hands on the 
doors of the houses. 

It is a lucky thing that they are fighting with 
natural weapons,” I said to Wali Dad, else we 
should have half the City killed.” 

I turned as I spoke and looked at his face. 
His nostrils were distended, his eyes were fixed, 
and he was smiting himself softly on the breast. 
The crowd poured by with renewed riot—a gang 
of Musalmans hard pressed by some hundred 
Hindu fanatics. Wall Dad left my side with an 
oath, and shouting :—Ya Hasan ! Ya Hus* 
sain 1 ” plunged into the thick of tlie fight where 
1 lost sight of him. 

I fled by a side alley to the Padshahi Gate 
where I found Wali Dad’s horse, and thence rode 
to the Fort. Once outside the City wall, the 
tumult sank to a dull roar, very impressive under 
the stars and reflecting great credit on the fifty 


3 S6 in black and white. 

thousand angry able-bodied men who were mak* 
ing it. The troops who, at the Deputy Commis* 
sioner’s instance, had been ordered to rendezvous 
quietly near the Fort, showed no signs of being 
impressed. Two companies of Native Infantry, 
a squadron of Native Cavalry and a company of 
British Infantry were kicking their heels in the 
shadow of the East face, waiting for orders to 
march in. I am sorry to say that they were all 
pleased, unholily pleased, at the chance of what 
they called a little fun.’’ The senior officers, 
to be sure, grumbled at having been kept out of 
bed, and the English troops pretended to be sulky, 
but there was joy in the hearts of all the subal¬ 
terns, and whispers ran up and down the line :— 
No ball-cartridge—what a beastly shame ! ” 
D’you think the beggars will really stand up to 
us?” ’Hope I shall meet my money-lender 
there. I owe him more than I can afford.’^ 
Oh, they won’t let us even unsheath swords.’^ 
Hurrah I Up goes the fourth rocket. Fall in. 
there!” 

The Garrison Artillery, who to the last cher« 
ished a wild hope that they might be allowed t® 


ON THE CITY WALL. 


357 

bombard the City at a hundr d yards’ range, lined 
the parapet above the East gateway and cheered 
themselves hoarse as the British Infantry doubled 
along the road to the Main Gate of the City. 
The Cavalry cantered on to the Padshahi Gate, 
and the Native Infantry marched slowly to the 
Gate of the Butchers. The surprise was intended 
to be of a distinctly unpleasant nature, and to 
come on top of the defeat of the Police who had 
been just able to keep the Muhammadans from 
firing the houses of a few leading Hindus. The 
bulk of the riot lay in the north and northwest 
wards. The east and southeast were by this time 
dark and silent, and I rode hastily to Lalun’s 
house, for I wished to tell her to send some one 
in search of Wali Dad. The house was unlighted, 
but the door was open, and I climbed upstairs in 
the darkness. One small lamp in the white room 
showed Lalun and her maid leaning half out of 
the window, breathing heavily and evidently pull¬ 
ing at something that refused to come. 

Thou art late—very late,” gasped Lalun, with¬ 
out turning her head. Help us now, 0 Fool, if 
thou hast not spent thy strength howling among 


IN BLACK AND WHITE. 


358 


'v 


the tzias. Puli! isiban and I can do ntr more! 
0 Sahib, is it you i The Hindus have been 
hunting an old Muhammadan round the Ditch 
with clubs. If they find him again they wiU kill 
him. Help us to pull him up.” 

I laid my hands to the long red silk waist-cloth 
that was hanging out the window, and we three 
pulled and pulled with all the strength at our 
command. There was something very heavy at 
the end, and it was swearing in an unknown 
tongue as it kicked against the City wall. 

Pull, oh, pull 1 ’’ said Lalun at the last. A 
pair of brown hands grasped the window-sill and 
a venerable Muhammadan tumbled upon the floor, 
very much out of breath. His jaws were tied up, 
and his turban had fallen over one eye. He was 
dusty and angry. 

Lalun hid her face in her hands for an instant 
and said something about Wali Dad that I could 
not catch. 

Then, to my extreme gratification, she threw 
her arms round my neck and murmured pretty 
things. I was in no haste to stop her; and Nasi- 
ban, being a handmaiden of tact, turned to the 


ON THE CITY WALL. 35Q 

big jewel-chest that stands in the corner of the 
white room and rummaged among the contents. 
The Muhammadan sat on the floor and glared. 

One service more, Sahib, since thou hast 
come so opportunately,” said Lalun. Wilt 

thou ”—it is very nice to be thou-ed by Lalun— 
take this old man across the City—the troops 
are everywhere, and they might hurt him, for he 
is old—to the Kumharsen Gate ? There I think 
he may find a carriage to take him to his house. 
He is a friend of mine, and thou art—more than 
a friend . . . therefore I ask this.’’ 

Nasihan bent over the old man, tucked some¬ 
thing into his belt, and I raised him up, and led 
him into the streets. In crossing from the east 
to the west of the City there was no chance of 
avoiding the troops and the crowd. Long before 
I reached the Gully of the Horsemen I heard the 
shouts of the British Infantry crying cheerily:— 
Hutt, ye beggars! Hutt, ye devils! Get 
along ’ Go forward, there ! Then followed the 
ringing of rifle-butts and shrieks of pain. The 
troops were banging the bare toes of the mob 
with their butts—not a bayonet had been fixed. 


360 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

My companion mumbled and jabbered as we 
walked on until we were carried back by the 
crowd and bad to force our way to the troops. 
I caught him by the wrist and felt a bangle 
thereon—the iron bangle of the Sikhs—but I had 
no suspicions, for Lalun had only ten minutes 
before put her arms round me. Thrice we 
were carried back by the crowd, and when we 
won our way past the British Infantry it was to 
meet the Sikh Cavalry driving another mob 
before them with the butts of their lances. 

What are these dogs ? ’’ said the old man. 

Sikhs of the Cavalry, Father,” I said, and 
we edged our way up the line of horses two 
abreast and found the Deputy Commissioner, his 
helmet smashed on his head, surrounded by a 
knot of men who had come down from the Club 
as amateur constables and had helped the Police 
mightily. 

^^Wedl keep ’em on the run till dawn,’’ said 
Petitt. Who’s your villainous friend ? ” 

I had only time to say :—The Protection of 
the Sirkar I ” when a fresh crowd flying before 
the Native Infantry carried us a hundred yards 


ON THE CITY WALL. 361 

nearer to the Kumharsen Gate, and Petitt was 
swept away like a shadow. 

I do not know—I cannot see—it is all new 
to me ! ’’ moaned my companion. How many 
troops are there in the City ? ” 

Perhaps five hundred/’ I said. 

A lakh of men beaten by five hundred—and 
Sikhs among them 1 Surely, surely, I am an old 
man, but—the Kumharsen Gate is new. Who 
pulled down the stone lions ? Where is the con¬ 
duit ? Sahib, I am a very old man, and, alas, I 
—I cannot stand.He dropped in the shadow 
of the Kumharsen Gate where there was no dis¬ 
turbance. A fat gentleman wearing go\A pince- 
nez came out of the darkness. 

You are most kind to bring my old friend,^’ 
he said suavely. He is a landholder of Akala. 
He should not be in a big City when there is re¬ 
ligious excitement. But I have a carriage here. 
You are quite truly kind. Will you help me to 
put him into the carriage ? It is very late.” 

We bundled the old man into a hired victoria 
that stood close to the gate, and I turned back to 
the house on the City waU. The troops were 


362 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

driving the people to and fro, while the Police 
shouted, To your houses ! Get to your houses! 
and the dog-whip of the Assistant District Super- 
intendent cracked remorselessly. Terror-stricken 
hunnias clung to the stirrups of the cavalry, cry¬ 
ing that their houses had been robbed (which was 
a lie), and the burly Sikh horsemen patted them 
on the shoulder and bade them return to those 
houses lest a worse thing should happen^ Par¬ 
ties of five or six British soldiers, joining arms, 
swept down the side-gullies, their rifles on their 
backs, stamping, with shouting and song, upon 
the toes of Hindu and Mussalman. Never was 
religious enthusiasm more systematically squashed; 
and never were poor breakers of the peace more 
utterly weary and footsore. They were routed 
out of holes and corners, from behind well-pillars 
and byres, and bidden to go to their houses. If 
they had no houses to go to, so much the worse 
for their toes. 

On returning to Lalun’s door I stumbled over 
a man at the threshold. He was sobbing hysteri¬ 
cally and his arms flapped like the wings of a 
goose. It was Wali Dad, Agnostic and Un- 


ON THE CITY WALL. 363 

believer, shoeless, turbanless, and frothing at the 
mouth, the flesh on his chest bruised and bleeding 
from rhe vehemence with which he had smitten 
himself. A broken torch-handle lay by his side 
and his quivering lips murmured, Ya Hasan ! 
Ya Hussain ! ’’ as I stooped over him. I pushed 
him a few steps up the staircase, threw a pebble 
at Lalun^s City window and hurried home. 

Most of the streets were very still, and the cold 
wind that comes before the dawn whistled down 
them. In the center of the Square of the Mosque 
a man was bending over a corpse. The sku.l 
had been smashed in by gun-butt or bamboo 
stave. 

It is expedient that one man should die for 
the people,^^ said Petitt grimly, raising the shape 
less head. “ These brutes were beginning to shcv/ 
their teeth too much.’’ 

And from afar we could hear the soldiers sing¬ 
ing Two Lovely Black Eyes,” as they drove 
the remnant of the rioters within doors. 


Of course you can guess what happened ? 1 


364 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

was not so clever. When the news went abroad 
that Khem Singh had escaped from the Fort, I 
did not, since I was then living the story, not 
writing it, connect myself^ or Lalun, or the fat 
gentleman of the gold with his disap¬ 

pearance. Nor did it strike me that Wali Dad 
was the man who should have steered him across 
the City, or that Lalun’s arms round my neck were 
put there to hide the money that Nasiban gave 
to him, and that Lalun had used me and my white 
face as even a better safeguard than Wali Dad 
who proved himself so untrustworthy. All that 
I knew at the time was that, when Fort Amara 
was taken up with the riots, Khem Singh profited 
by the confusion to get away, and that his two 
Sikh guards also escaped. 

But later on I received full enlightenment; and 
so did Khem Singh. He fled to those who knew 
him in the old days, but many of them were dead 
and more were changed and all knew something 
of the Wrath of the Government. He went to 
the young men, but tho glamour of his name had 
passed away, and they were entering native regi¬ 
ments or Government offices, and Khem Singh 


ON THE CITY WALL. 365 

could give them neither pension, decorations, 
nor influence—nothing hut a glorious death with 
their hacks to the mouth of a gun. He wrote 
letters and made promises, and the letters fell in¬ 
to had hands, and a wholly insignificant subordi¬ 
nate officer of Police tracked them down and gained 
promotion thereby. Moreover, Khem Singh was 
old, and anise-seed brandy was scarce, and he had 
left his silver cooking-pots in Fort Amara with 
his nice warm bedding, and the gentleman Avith 
the gold pince-nez was told by those who had em¬ 
ployed him that Khem Singh as a popular leader 
was not worth the money paid. 

Great is the mercy of these fools of English,’^ 
said Khem Singh when the situation was ex¬ 
plained. I will go back to Fort Amara of my 
own free wdll and gain honor. Give me good 
clothes to return in.” 

So, upon a day, Khem Singh knocked at the 
wicket-gate of the Fort and walked to the Cap¬ 
tain and the Subaltern who were nearly gray¬ 
headed on account of correspondence that daily 
arrived from Simla marked “ Private.” 

. I have come back, Captain,” said Khem Singh. 


366 IN BLACK AND WHITE. 

^ Put no more guards over me. It is no good 
out yonder.” 

A week later I saw him for the first time to 
my knowledge, and he made as though there 
were an imderstanding between us. 

It was well done, Sahib,” said he, ^^and 
greatly I admired your astuteness in thus boldly 
facing the troops when I, whom they would have 
doubtless torn to pieces, was with you. Now 
there is a man in Fort Ooltagarh whom a bold 
man could with ease help to escape. This is the 
position of the Fort as I draw it on the sand ”... 

But I was thinking how I had become Lalun’i 
Vizier after all. 


The Boy Spies Series 


These stories are based on important hia 
torical events, scenes wherein boys are prom 
inent characters being selected. They are thd 
romance of history, vigorously told, with careful 
fidelity to picturing the home life, and accurate 
in ever>" particular. 

Handsome Cloth Bindings 


PRICE, 60 CENTS PER VOLUME 


THE BOY SPIES AT THE BATTLE OF NEW ORLEANS. 

A story of the part they took in its defence. 

By William P. Chipman. 

THE BOY SPIES AT THE DEFENCE OF FORT HENRY. 

A boy’s story of Wheeling Creek in 1777. 

By James Otis. 

THE BOY SPIES AT THE BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL. 

A story of two boys at the siege of Boston. 

By James Otis. 

THE BOY SPIES AT THE SIEGE OF DETROIT. 

A story of two Ohio boys in the War of 1'8I2. 

By James Otis. 

THE BOY SPIES WITH LAFAYETTE. 

The story of how two boys joined the Continental Army. 

By James Otis. 

THE BOY SPIES ON CHESAPEAKE BAY. 

The story of two young spies under Commodore Barney. 

By James Otis. 

THE BOY SPIES WITH THE REGULATORS. 

The story of how the boys assisted the Carolina Patriots to drive the 
British from that State. 

By James Otis. 

THE BOY SPIES WITH THE SWAMP FOX. 

The story of General Marion and his young spies. 

By James Otis. 

THE BOY SPIES AT YORKTOWN. 

The story of how the spies helped General Lafayette in the Siege of 
York town. 

By James Otis. 

THE BOY SPIES OF PHILADELPHIA. 

The story of how the young spies helped the Continentaj Army at 
Valley Forge. 

By James Otis. 

THE BOY SPIES OF FORT GRISWOLD. 

The story of the part they took in its brave defence. 

By William P. Chipman. 

IHE BOY SPIES OF OLD NEW YORK. 

The story of how the young spies prevented the capture of General 
Wasliingtcn. 

By James Otis. 



For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the 
publishers, A. L. BURT COMPANY, 114-120 East 23d Street, New York 







The Navy Boys Series 


A series of excellent stories of adventure on 
sea and land, selected from the works of popu¬ 
lar writers; each volume designed for boys’ 
reading. 

Handsome Cloth Bindings 


PRICE, 60 CENTS PER VOLUi</iE 



THE NAVY BOYS IN DEFENCE OF LIBERTY. 

A story of the burning of the British schooner Gaspee in 1772. 
By William P. Chipman. 


THE NAVY BOYS ON LONG ISLAND SOUND. 

A story of the Whale Boat Navy of 1776. 

By James Otis. 


THE NAVY BOYS AT THE SIEGE OF HAVANA. 

Being the experience of three boys serving under Israel Putnam in 1772. 
By James Otis. 


THE NAVY BOYS WITH GRANT AT VICKSBURG. 

A boy’s story of the siege of Vicksburg. 

By James Otis. » 


THE NAVY BOYS’ CRUISE WITH PAUL JONES. 

A boy’s story of a cruise with the Great Commodore in 1776. 

By James Otis. 

THE NAVY BOYS ON LAKE ONTARIO. 

The story of two boys and their adventures in the War of 1812, 
By James Otis. 


THE NAVY BOYS’ CRUISE ON THE PICKERING. 

A boy’s story of privateering in 1780. 

By James Otis. 

THE NAVY BOYS IN NEW YORK BAY. 

A story of three boys who took command of the schooner “The Laughinfi, 
Mary,’’ the first vessel of the American Navy. 

By James Otis. 


THE NAVY BOYS IN THE TRACK OF THE ENEMY. 

The story of a remarkable cruise with the Sloop of War “ Providence ’’ and the 
Frigate “Alfred.” 

By William P. Chipman. 


THE NAVY BOYS’ DARING CAPTURE. 

The story of how the navy boys helped to capture the British Cutter 
“Margaretta,” in 1775. 

By William P. Chipman. 

THE NAVY BOYS’ CRUISE TO THE BAHAMAS. 

The adventures of two Yankee Middies with the first cruise of aa 
American Squadron in 1775. 

By William P. Chipman. 

THE NAVY BOYS’ CRUISE WITH COLUMBUS. 

The adventures of two boys who sailed with the great Admiral in his 
discovery of America. 

Frederick A. Ober. 


For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the 
publishers, A. L. BURT COMPANY. 114-120 East 23d Street, New York 








The Boy Allies 

(Registered in the United States Patent Office) 

With the Battleships 

By ENSIGN ROBERT L. DRAKE 


Price, 40 Cents per Volume, Postpaid 


Frank Chadwick and Jack Templeton, young Ameri¬ 
can lads, meet each other in an unusual way soon after 
the declaration of war. Circumstances place them on 
board the British cruiser ‘ ‘ The Sylph ’ ’ and from there 
on, they share adventures with the sailors of the Allies. 
Ensign Robert E. Drake, the author, is an experienced 
naval officer, and he describes admirably the mau}^ ex¬ 
citing adventures of the two boys. 

THE BOY ALLIES UNDER THE 
SEA; or, The Vanishing Submarine. 

THE BOY ALLIES IN THE BALTIQ; 
or, Through Fields of Ice to Aid the 
Czar. 

THE BOY ALLIES ON THE NORTH 
SEA PATROL; or. Striking the First 
Blow at the German Fleet. 

THE BOY ALLIES UNDER TWO 
FLAGS; or. Sweeping the Enemy 
from the Seas. 

THE BOY ALLIES WITH THE FLY=. 

INQ SQUADRON; or, The Naval Raid- 
ers of the Great War. 

THE BOY ALLIES WITH THE TER¬ 
ROR OF THE SEAS; or. The Last 
Shot of Submarine D= 16 . 


i 

! 














(Registered in the United States Patent Office) 

the Army 

By CLAIR W. HAYES 
Price, 40 Cents per Volume, Postpaid 


In this series we follow the fortunes of two American 
lads unable to leave Europe after war is declared. They 
meet the soldiers of the Allies, and decide to cast then- 
lot with them. Their experiences and escapes are many, 
and furnish plenty of the good, healthy action that every 
boy loves. 


THE BOY ALLIES IN GREAT PERIL; 
or, With the Italian Army in the 
Alps. 

THE BOY ALLIES IN THE BALKAN 
CAMPAIGN; or. The Struggle to 
Save a Nation. 

THE BOY ALLIES AT LIEGE; or. 
Through Lines of Steel. 

THE BOY ALLIES ON THE FIRING 
LINE; or, Twelve Days Battle Along 
the Marne. 

THE BOY ALLIES WITH THE COS¬ 
SACKS; or, A Wild Dash over the 
Carpathians. 

THE BOY ALLIES IN THE TRENCHES; 
or. Midst Shot and Shell Along the 
Aisne. 













The ^oy Scouts Series 

By HERBERT CARTER 


Price, 40 Cents per Volnme, Postpaid 


THE BOY SCOUTS ON WAR TRAILS IN BELGIUM; or, 
Caught Between the Hostile Armies. In this volume we 
follow the thrilling adventures of the boys in the midst 
of the exciting struggle abroad. 

THE BOY SCOUTS DOWN IN DIXIE; or, The Strange 
Secret of Alligator Swamp. Startling experiences awaited 
the comrades when they visited the Southland. But their 
knowledge of woodcraft enabled them to overcome all 
difficulties. 

THE BOY SCOUTS AT THE BATTLE OF SARATOGA. A 

story of Burgoyne’s defeat in 1777. 

THE BOY SCOUTS' FIRST CAMP FIRE; or. Scouting with 
the Silver Fox Patrol. This book brims over with woods 
lore and the thrilling adventure that befell the Boy Scouts 
during their vacation in the wilderness. 

THE BOY SCOUTS IN THE BLUE RIDGE; or. Marooned 
Among the Moonshiners. This story tells of the strange 
and mysterious adventures that happened to the Patrol in 
their trip among the moonshiners of North Carolina. 

THE BOY SCOUTS ON THE TRAIL; or, Scouting through 
the Big Game Country. The story recites the adventures 
of the members of the Silver Fox Patrol with wild animals 
of the forest trails and the desperate men who had sought 
a refuge in this lonely country. 

THE BOY SCOUTS IN THE MAINE WOODS; or. The New 
Test for the Silver Fox Patrol. Thad and his chums have 
a wonderful experience when they are employed by the 
State of Maine to act as Fire Wardens. 

THE BOY SCOUTS THROUGH THE BIG TIMBER; or. The 
Search for the Lost Tenderfoot. A serious calamity 
threatens the Silver Fox Patrol. How apparent disaster 
is bravely met and overcome by Thad and his friends, 
forms the main theme of the story. 

THE BOY SCOUTS IN THE ROCKIES; or. The Secret of 
the Hidden Silver Mine. The boys’ tour takes them into 
the wildest region of the great Rocky Mountains and 
here they meet with many strange adventures. 

THE BOY SCOUTS ON STURGEON ISLAND; or, Marooned 
Among the Game Fish Poachers. Thad_ Brewster and his 
comrades find themselves in the predicament that con¬ 
fronted old Robinson Crusoe; only it is on the Great 
Lakes that they are wrecked instead of the salty sea. 

THE BOY SCOUTS ALONG THE SUSQUEHANNA; or. The 
Silver Fox Patrol Caught in a Flood. The boys of the 
Silver Fox Patrol, after successfully braving a terrific 
flood, become entangled in a mystery that carries them 
through many exciting adventures. 














The Boy Churns Series 

By B'lLMER M. ELY 

Price, 40 Cents per Volume, Postpaid 


In this series of remarkable stories are described the 
adventures of two boys in the great swamps of interior 
Florida, among the caj^s off the Florida coast, and 
through the Bahama Islands. These are real, live boys, 
and their experiences are worth following. 

THE BOY CHUMS IN MYSTERY 
LAND; or, Charlie West and Walter 
Hazard among the Mexicans. 

THE BOY CHUMS ON INDIAN RIVER; 
or, The Boy Partners of the Schooner 
“Orphan.” 

THE BOY CHUMS ON HAUNTED 
ISLAND; or. Hunting for Pearls in 
the Bahama Islands. 

THE BOY CHUMS IN THE FOREST; 
or. Hunting for Plume Birds in the 
Florida Everglades. 

THE BOY CHUMS’ PERILOUS 
CRUISE; or. Searching for Wreckage 
on the Florida Coast. 

THE BOY CHUMS IN THE GULF OF 
MEXICO; or, A Dangerous Cruise 
with the Greek Spongers. 

THE BOY CHUMS CRUISING IN 
FLORIDA WATERS; or. The Perils 
and Dangers of the Fishing Fleet. 

THE BOY CHUMS IN THE FLORIDA 
JUNGLE; or, Charlie West and Wal¬ 
ter Hazard with the Seminole Indians. 











Our Youn^ Aeroplane 
Scouts Series 

(Registered in the United States Patent Office) 

By HORACE PORTER 
Price, 40 Cents per Volume, Postpaid 


A series of stories of two American boy aviators in the 
great European war zone. The fascinating life in mid¬ 
air is thrillingly described. The boys have many ex¬ 
citing adventures, and the narratives of their numerous 
escapes make up a series of wonderfully interesting 
stories. 


OUR YOUNG AEROPLANE SCOUTS 
IN ENGLAND; or, Twin Stars in the 
London Sky Patrol. 

OUR YOUNG AEROPLANE SCOUTS 
IN ITALY; or, Flying with the War 
Eagles of the Alps. 

OUR YOUNG AEROPLANE SCOUTS 
IN FRANCE AND BELGIUM; or. 
Saving the Fo. tunes of the Trouvilles. 

OUR YOUNG AEROPLANE SCOUTS IN 
GERMANY; or. Winning the Iron 
Cross. 

OUR YOUNG AEROPLANE SCOUTS IN 
RUSSIA; or. Lost on the Frozen 
Steppes. 

OUR YOUNG AEROPLANE SCOUTS IN 
TURKEY; or, Bringing the Light to 
Yusef. 













The Broncho Rider Boys Series 

By FRANK FOWLER 
Price, 40 Cents per Volume, Postpaid 


A series of srirring stories for boys, breathing the adventurous spirit 
that lives in the wide plains and lofty mountain ranges of the great West. 
These tales will delight every lad who loves to read ot pleasing adventure in 
the open ; yet at the same time the most careful pcirent need not hesitate to 
place them in the hands of the boy. 

THE BRONCHO RIDER BOYS WITH FUNSTON AT VERA 
CRUZ; or, Upholding the Honor of the Stars and Stripes. 

When trouble breaks out between this country and Mex¬ 
ico, the boys are eager to join the American troops under 
General Funston. Their attempts to reach Vera Cruz are 
fraught with danger, but after many difficulties, they 
manage to reach the trouble zone, where their real ad¬ 
ventures begin. 

THE BRONCHO RIDER BOYS AT KEYSTONE RANCH; or, 
Three Chums of the Saddle and Lariat. 

In this story the reader makes the acquaintance of three 
devoted chums. The book begins in rapid action, and 
there is “something doing” up to the very time you lay 
it down. 

, THE BRONCHO RIDER BOYS DOWN IN ARIZONA; or, 
A Struggle for the Great Copper Lode. 

The Broncho Rider Boys find themselves impelled to make 
a brave fight against heavy odds, in order to retain pos- 
, session of a valuable mine that is claimed by some of 

their relatives. They meet with numerous strange and 
thrilling perils and every wideawake boy will be pleased to 
learn how the boys finally managed to outwit their 
enemies. 

THE BRONCHO RIDER BOYS ALONG THE BORDER; or. 
The Hidden Treasure of the Zuni Medicine Man. 

Once more the tried and true comrades of camp and trail 
are in the saddle. In the strangest possible way they are 
drawn into a series of exciting happenings among the Zuni 
Indians. Certainly no lad will lay this book down, save 
with regret. 

THE BRONCHO RIDER BOYS ON THE WYOMING TRAIL; 
or, A Mystery of the Prairie Stampede. 

The three prairie pards finally find a chance to visit the 
Wyoming ranch belonging to Adrian, but managed for 
him by an unscrupulous relative. Of course, they be¬ 
come entangled in a maze of adventurous doings while in 
the Northern cattle country. How the Broncho Rider 
Boys carried themselves through this nerve-testing period 
makes intensely interesting reading. 

THE BRONCHO RIDER BOYS WITH THE TEXAS RAN¬ 
GERS; or. The Smugglers of the Rio Grande. 

In this volume, the Broncho Rider Boys get mixed up in 
the Mexican troubles, and become acquainted with General 
Villa. In their efforts to prevent smuggling across the 
border, they naturally make many enemies, but finally 
succeed in their mission. 











The 

Five Motorcycle Boys 
Series 

By RALPH MARLOW 


Price, 40 Cents per Volume, Postpaid 


It is doubtful whether a more entertaining lot of 
boys ever before appeared in a story than the ‘ ‘ Big 
Five,” who figfure in the pages of these volumes. From 
cover to cover the reader will be thrilled and delighted 
with the accounts of their many adventures. 


THE BIG FIVE MOTORCYCLE BOYS 
ON THE BATTLE LINE; or, With 
the Allies in France. 

THE BIG FIVE MOTORCYCLE BOYS 
AT THE FRONT; or, Carrying Dis= 
patches Through Belgium. 

THE BIG FIVE MOTORCYCLE BOYS 
UNDER FIRE; or, With the Allies in 
the War Zone. 

THE BIG FIVE MOTORCYCLE BOYS* 
SWIFT ROAD CHASE; or, Surprising 
the Bank Robbers. 

THE BIG FIVE MOTORCYCLE BOYS 
ON FLORIDA TRAILS; or, Adven¬ 
tures Among the Saw Palmetto 
Crackers. 

THE BIG FIVF MOTORCYCLE BOYS 
IN TENNESSEE WILDS; or. The 
Secret of Walnut Ridge. 

THE BIG FIVE MOTORCYCLE BOYS 
THROUGH BY WIRELESS; or, A 
Strange Message from the Air. 











5 Volumes By WINN STANDISH 


Handsomely Bound tn Cloth 
Full Library Size — Price 
40 cents per Volume, postpaid 


CAPTAIN JACK LORIMER; or, The Young Athlete of 
Miilvale High. 

Jack Lorimer is a fine example of the all-around American high-school 
boy. His fondness for clean, honest sport of all kinds will strike a chord 
of sympathy among athletic youths. 

JACK LORIMER^S CHAMPIONS; or, Sports on Land 

and Lake, 

There is a lively story woven in with the athletic achievements, which 
are all right, since the book has been O.K’d by Chadwick, the Nestor of 
American sporting journalism. 

JACK LORIMER^S HOLIDAYS; or, MiUvale High in 

Camp. 

It would be well not to put this book Into a boy’s hands until the chores 
are finished, otherwise they might be neglected. 

JACK LORIMER'S SUBSTITUTE; or, The Acting Captain 
of the Team. 

On the sporting side, the book takes up football, wrestling, tobogganing. 
There is a good deal of fun in this book and plenty of action. 

JACK LORIMER, FRESHMAN; or. From Miilvale High 

to Exmouth. 

Jack and some friends he makes crowd innumerable happenings into 
an, exciting freshman year at one of the leading Eastern colleges. The 
book is typical of the American college boy’s life, and there is a lively 
story, interwoven with feats on the gridiron, hockey, basketball and 
other clean, honest sports for which Jack Lorimer stands. 


c 


For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers 

A. L. BURt COMPANY, 114-120 East 23d Street, New YoA, 





The AMY E. BLANCHARD Series 



BLANCHARD has won an enviable reputation 
as a writer of short stories for girls. Her books are 
thoroughly wholesome in everyway and her style is full 
of charm. The titles described below will be splendid additions to 

every girl’s library. Handsomely bound in cloth, full library size, 
illustrated by L. J. Bridgman. Price, 60 cents per .volume, postpaid. 


The Glad Lady. A spirited account of a remarkably pleasant 

vacation spent in an unfrequented part of northern Spain. This summer, 
which promised at the outset to be very quiet, proved to be exactly the 
opposite. Event follows event in rapid succession and the story ends with 
the culmination of at least two happy romances. The story throughout is 
interwoven with vivid descriptions of real places and people of which the 
general public knows very little. These add greatly to the reader’s interest 

WIT’S End. Instilled with' life, color and individuality, this story of 
true love cannot fail to attract and hold to its happy end the reader’s eager 
attention. The word pictures are masterly; while the poise of narrative and 
description is marvellously preserved. 

A Journey of Joy, A charming story of the travels and 

adventures of two young American girls, and an elderly companion in Europe, 
it is not only well told, but the amount of information contained will make it 
a very valuable addition to the library of any girl who anticipates making a 
similar trip. Their many pleasant experiences end in the.culmination of two 
happy romances, all told in the happiest vein. 

Talbot’s Angles. A' charming romance of Southern life.: 

Talbot’s Angles is a beautiful old estate located on the. Eastern Shore of 
Maryland. The death of the owner and the ensuing legal troubles render it 
necessary for our heroine, the present owner, to leave the place which has- 
been in her family for hundreds of years and endeavor to earn her own living. 
Another claimant for the property appearing on the scene complicates matters 
still more. The untangling of this mixed-up condition of affairs makes an 
extremely interesting story. 


For sale by all booksellers, or sent prepaid on receipt of price by the publishers' 

A. L. BURT COMPANY, 114-120 East 23d Street, New York 








The Camp Fke Girls Series 

By HILDEGARD G. FREY. The only eeries of stories 
for Camp Fire Girls endorsed by the oflBcials of the Camp 
Fire Girls Or^anizatioa PRICE, 40 CENTS PER VOLUME 


THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS IN THE MAINE WOODS; or, 
Tho WlnnebagOft go Camping. 

Thifi lively Camp Fire group and their Goardlan go back to Nature in a 
’ camp in tho wilds of Maine and pile up more adventures in one summer 
than tho'^^ have bad in all their previous vacations put together. Before 
the summer is over they have transformed Gladys, the frivolous boardk 
ing school girl, into a genuine Winnebaga 

THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS AT SOiOCL; or. The Wohdo 

i the custom of the Winnebagos to weave the events of their lives 
into symbolic bead bands, instead of keeping a diary. Ail commenda¬ 
tory doings are worked out In bright colors, but every time the Law cf 
of the Camp Fire is broken it most be recorded in black. Kow these 
seven live wire girls strive to infuse into their school life the spirit of 
Work, Health and Love and yet manage to get into more than their 
•bare of mischief, is tdd in this story. 

THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS AT ONOWAY HOUSE; ©f. 
The Magie Garden. 

Mlgwan is determined (o go to collie, and not being strong enough to 
work indoors earns the numey by raising fruits and vegetables. The 
Winnebagos all tom a hand to help the cause along and the “goings- 
rr/* r* House that summer naake the foundations shake with 

laughter. 

THE CAMP HRE GIRLS GO MOTORING; or. Along 
the Road That Leads the Way. 

The V/innebagos take a thousand mile auto trip. The ** pinching** of 
Ns’oda, the fire in the country inn, the runaway girl and the deed- 
earnest haro and hound chase combine to make these three weeks the 
most exciting the Winnebagos have ever experienced. 


For ssle by all bookselieis. or sent postpaid on receipt cf price by the pabilsbcrs 

X L. BURT COMPANY, 114.120 East 23d Street New Yesk, 







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